Prey
by Substance
Summary: Femslash - Ashe x Quinn / Ashe x Sejuani - Sequel to "Vengeance" - Ashe, hoping to break the stalemate with her beloved Sejuani, approaches Demacia for help. The stress of diplomacy and the pain of heartbreak drive Ashe to find refuge in a secret life, where predator and prey are one and the same. There is now a sequel called "Gemini".
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** : I do not own any of the rights to 'League of Legends'. This is written solely for entertainment, not profit. Please don't sue me, Rito.

 **Rated M** for raw sexual angst - it gets rough in places. This isn't a darkfic, but if you want something fluffy, I'd go elsewhere.

This story is the fourth in a series, following **Infinity** , **Dreams** and **Vengeance** then preceding ** Gemini** (also on this site). I've tried to make each story coherent on its own but reading them in sequence is recommended.

For those who have been following this little saga. This is the first episode from Ashe's POV.

This is femslash, a story about romance between women. If you object, I advise you to stop reading.

* * *

 **Prey**

This is my battlefield.

I swear that, every morning, this gown weighs more and this whalebone corset shrinks. Am I growing weak and fat? I've spent enough time at archery practice. Maybe I'm just the wrong side of twenty-five. The last few months have added years to my life.

The heavy wig bothers my tortured roots. "Royal Freljord Blue" is made from a toxic dye so it can't touch my scalp. Under a coarse net, my poor natural locks are tied and rammed full of pins. It would be easier if I wore my hair short but it's never suited me. Even if I am Queen, I'm allowed _some_ pleasure, right? I like to feel pretty.

Oh, how I treasure these moments, when I can forget about my _real_ problems.

Regrettably, I can't dress myself, the outfit is too complex, but I must retain some independence. I choose my perfume and earrings, apply make-up and varnish my nails. I like my hands. They're fine yet calloused, archer's hands, a pleasure to work on before tackling my face. Without light and shade, I look dull, too much, and I'm a painted trollop. I use the wrong lipstick and become a desperate widow. It's murder.

Tryndamere paces behind me. I catch his gaze in the mirror. 'Stop it.'

'You always do this.' He lumbers to my side, cluttering my artfully chosen border. I'm only going to take longer. Those colours are my reference. 'The moment you step into that banquet, you'll melt. Let it be.'

'It's all right for _you_.' He is dressed for _battle_ of all things, a big, vulgar display of rippling muscle and patchwork plate. 'I don't know why I let you off. People might think we're in love.'

'That's a new word. You might even get around to "patience" and "humility".'

'You'd better not try that line on our guests.'

'Nah, Demacians are a tough crowd. That's why I'm wearing this.' He knocks twice on his helmet. 'They'll be in full armour. Just you watch.'

'So I'm casting my pearls before swine.' There's a dusting of powder on my collar. If that gets wet, my look is ruined. I grab a clean brush. 'I could have worn my cloak and spared myself the trouble.'

'You enjoy it.'

'Why? Because I'm a woman?'

His nostrils flare in disgust. 'I can't imagine your girlfriend bothering much.'

'That's a strange term for our implacable foe. I suppose the Winter's Claw are just a ruse to draw my attention.'

'Heroes have slain dragons, moved mountains and razed kingdoms to win the hearts of their fair maidens.' He presents me, like a punchline, to an unseen crowd.

'You do know that most of your epic tales are fiction?'

'Like Avarosa?'

' _Don't_ go there.' I quickly shift the conversation. History is one of the few subjects where Tryndamere and I really come to blows. Women don't feature in his pantheon. I wouldn't wish his past on anyone but if isolation hadn't blurred his prejudice, he would be intolerable. 'Sejuani could wear anything. Unlike me, she has height, shoulders, presence…'

'That what you call them? You got "presence" to spare, girl.'

'Thank you for proving my point.' I clear my throat. 'Announcing Tryndamere, the Barbarian King, Anivia, the Cryophoenix, Ashe… a pair of tits!'

'That would get _my_ attention.'

I make a snipping gesture with my fingers. 'You're so lucky I need an heir.' Gathering my skirts, I pirouette. 'Seriously, do I look all right?'

Tryndamere furrows his brow. 'Get your weapon.' I retrieve my bow and strike a pose, drawing back the string with all the power that my corset allows. A stitch comes loose. Watch out, boys. There are muscles beneath _my_ curves. Tryndamere whoops. 'That's more like it, Warrior-Queen of the Freljord! They'll be shaking in their boots.'

I try to stare down my reflection. 'Good.' Walking tall, I cross the room and tug at his elbow. 'Shall we make our entrance?'

'Let's knock 'em dead.'

We leave my chambers. The door closes with a boom that echoes down an empty corridor.

I tremble.

'Ashe!' Tryndamere catches me. I'm panting hard enough to rip a hole in my chest. My diaphragm clenches and acid blooms in every jagged breath. I'm scared. You can never step outside a panic attack. With enough alcohol or adrenaline, you can ride it out. Sometimes, you can lock it in a box while the wispy remnants of your mind stay afloat.

'I… felt her die… and she came back.' You don't forget the corpse of the one you love, her dead eyes and dead flesh upon you. The scar grows deeper with time. Sanity, bleeding from an open wound, congeals into a waking nightmare.

Tryndamere squeezes my arms. 'I know… but you've got to keep on.' He straightens my back. I fear my ribs will break from the pressure. All I want is to be naked and free, run through the palace with the royal goods on display. I have built a country and now I fantasise about losing it. 'You've worked hard for this alliance.'

'I know.'

'You deserve it.'

'We'll see.'

Tryndamere is not evil but I have resented him for too long, resented that noble grandeur came easily to a hulking brute while I had to sweat for my bearing. Every day I must prove myself to sycophants who nod at my every word and attack me in private.

Not like Sejuani, who would argue the colour of the sea until the rivers ran dry, counter my every thought and premise, but this proud, beautiful woman, who would die before conceding an inch, looked into my eyes and called me a _goddess_.

You will be mine, Sejuani. Once I have the aid of Demacia, you will have no choice but to surrender. I will not let you fall again.

* * *

We pass the balcony. Whenever I host important visitors, I put a guard here to thwart assassins. One day, I will relax here with my bow and make Tryndamere hold court.

A huge, spherical man blocks our view. He guffaws at our approach. 'Your Majesty! Your Maje _stress_!'

We've excused Gragas from bowing, in case he rolls over and levels the palace. It was Tryndamere who thought that one up. He was once so enamoured with the joke that he spent a whole day expounding it. I can't remember the grand finale, some drivel about Ionia and Piltover collaborating on a hextech see-saw to balance the world.

Gragas rubs his palms together. 'I knew you'd come this way. Feast your eyes on _this_!' With a sweep of his arm, he presents his work. The spread is glorious, traditional fayre laid out in unique portions for our guests, rather than a communal free-for-all. Our dining habits can upset the unwitting. Every place has a tankard, filled to the brim with Gragas' newest concoction.

He really is an asset. I have to smile, despite my anxiety. 'They'll be telling stories in Demacia for generations to come.'

Gragas pats his belly. 'Hospitality's my game, Your Worship.' He blithely rotates honorifics to "keep me grounded". 'And I play to win.'

Three Demacians perform a sweep of the hall. I recognise two of them, Xin Zhao and Luxanna Crownguard. Xin is obsessively thorough, poking his spear into every corner, showing no respect for our trophies or bunting. Lux babbles at anyone who comes near. I can see her method. She talks so loudly and quickly that people answer questions to be left in peace.

The third person is… I'm not sure, a little hunchback, wearing the most eccentric armour I've seen in years, a feathered helm and cloak, dwarfing a tiny frame in a skin-tight suit. Maybe it's a homunculus? The bobbing head evokes puppetry, not organic motion.

It whirls at alarming speed. The fierce, amber glare of a predator bores into my throat. I cower. Damn this weak heart! I am Queen. I have every right to observe my domain.

Running blind, I smack my elbow on Tryndamere's gauntlet. While my nerves rattle with pain, he talks me down. 'Easy… have you seen a ghost?'

'I'm not sure.'

Gragas waddles over to the balcony. 'Aye… the birdwoman, queer sight that.'

I try to recall her face. All I can remember are those eyes. 'That's a woman?'

'Eh… girl, more like, second one here after Xin. She had this giant eagle. Spoke to it before she came in. Don't know where it's gone.'

'They spoke?'

'Looked that way but she ain't said a word to _me_. Perhaps it were "caw caw caw".'

Is that eagle watching us? It could be invisible. Once we're done, I'll ask Braum to ward any high ceilings. 'I just didn't think Demacia was that… weird.'

Tryndamere shrugs. 'You get oddballs everywhere.'

I was disappointed. If that great beacon of stability held such madness then what hope was there for me?

* * *

The revels commence. To my surprise, the Demacians have brought entertainment, an exotic musician whose counterpoint is far too subtle for a boisterous crowd. She adapts well, finding a spot next to Braum and embellishing his tales. No doubt, she's wonderful, but I'm stuck at the head of my table, appearing "radiant" and "crystalline". It's impossible to eat without spoiling the effect, and this gown crushes my appetite. All I can do is get drunk.

I enjoy the preliminaries. Jarvan IV is lankier and scruffier than I expected, more of an otter than a bear. He's too craggy for his golden armour, especially when I picture the long, hairy body within. I relax, knowing that we both struggle. For a shameful instant, I'm proud of Tryndamere's natural charisma.

Just when I'm feeling happy and secure, they introduce Jarvan's half-dragon warrior.

I swear blind that Shyvana was brought solely to dazzle foes with the most perfect exhibition of lustrous female power in all of Runeterra. She's barely dressed! How could they do this to me? I have no choice but to imagine the molten smell and taste of those bare thighs and midriff, those tendons of steel beneath scale. Are they sensitive? Would she growl at the first touch and roar when…?

Tryndamere punches my arm. 'Eyes up. She's dangerous.'

Ugh, don't tell me she's dangerous. You're making it worse. 'I'm not…'

'Have you seen where your hand is?'

'My _stomach_ hurts!' We both watch her navigate the hall. She turns her back to find her seat. Oh, the _angle_ of that skirt…

'Wow.' Even Tryndamere is lost for words. 'You've got taste. I'll give you that.'

Anivia has the required impact. She bursts through the door to gasps of admiration and spreads her wings atop her jewel-encrusted perch. A legendary creature is a diplomatic boon… until she crows like a disapproving matron and upsets everyone. If she keeps her mouth shut and looks impressive, we're all good.

Birdwoman is not introduced. Poor form, if you ask me. Even servants are typically announced. I will query her presence when the time comes.

For now, I can do little but observe in resplendent boredom and try not to scratch myself while people are watching. My reports tell me that Jarvan isn't one for court so backroom dialogue will take precedence over any display. Tryndamere has the freedom to mingle. He does the rounds, helps himself to other people's food and returns, looking baffled. 'I can't be doing with this.'

'What have you learnt?'

'They're a pack of stupid, ham-fisted bootlickers. I suppose Lux is fun in small doses… or with something in her mouth. Jarvan's all right. He's obliged to talk nonsense. The rest have got no excuse. Your ogling of Shyvana went unnoticed, by the way.'

'Don't bring that up again.' Since when am _I_ the embarrassment? 'Who's the girl they're hiding?'

'I couldn't get near. Bounced off Xin and Garen as I tried.'

'That's fine. She's not a priority.' I hope that she doesn't prowl the corridors at night, looking for people to assassinate.

The banquet goes well. Gragas wouldn't let me down. Today is all about making sure the Demacians get plenty of sleep after their long journey. If they're tired and grumpy, it won't help our case.

We have a week to persuade them of our worth. I pray that nothing goes wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

Alcohol and I make poor bedfellows. It saps my energy _and_ keeps me awake. I'm itchy and hot. Bed-sheets wrap around my legs. I have to please Demacia, foil Lissandra and resolve my feud with Sejuani. It's too much. I'm boiling with stress.

Only Sejuani would die both to save my life _and_ to spite me. I don't know what happened at our last encounter. Volibear did. I saw it in his glowing eyes, crackling with paternal rage. He held Sejuani close, away from me, and held his tongue.

One question torments my every waking hour. How did she get that bracelet, the one from my dream?

I remember it well.

* * *

 _Sejuani was a childhood playmate from the wrong side of the tracks. We were active children, so we crossed paths while exploring the countryside. She found her calling before she left school, working all-hours for the mountain rescue service. My goal was an Olympic medal for archery, a dream that wrecked my first impetuous marriage. I had the talent, sponsorship and determination but none of those things would keep a roof over my head. My parents were no help. Their business had failed and, after my divorce, our relationship was poor._

 _Sejuani disapproved of my carelessness but drove me everywhere, "loaned" me the extra money for utilities and performed odd jobs, fitting my desk, fixing my pushbike. Once, I called in the middle of the night because my flat had sprung a leak. She turned up, looking rather dishevelled, and spent five hours on the problem. I screamed loud enough to wake the dead when she started improvising with a gas-powered soldering iron. However, it worked well enough that I could finally turn off my sodden vacuum cleaner. She went to the hardware store at daybreak to finish the task._

 _While Sejuani chugged a well-earned coffee, her mobile phone rang. A distorted female voice rattled the speaker unit. Sejuani explained where she had been. All colour drained from her cheeks. With a simple, "okay," she hung up. I asked what was wrong. Sejuani said that a friend was staying at her flat. I cheerfully asked for a name, in case it was someone we both knew._

 _No, and they wouldn't be seeing each other again. Sejuani looked utterly defeated then confessed that she was gay. I'll never forget the tone of her voice. It wasn't like she was baring her soul or declaring her trust. It was like she had lost a bet._

 _Afterwards, I couldn't stop imagining sex with her but it wasn't fair to trouble Sejuani with my puerile obsession. I had to get over it and treat her like a person, rather than a toy._

 _She didn't mention any future girlfriends. Life was the same. I was invited to an exhibition on the other side of the country. The first train wouldn't get me there on time. Sejuani insisted that I shouldn't be wasting money on hotels and offered to drive me there and back, even though she was working the night before._

 _On the return journey, she fell asleep at the wheel and popped a tyre on the kerb. It wasn't a deadly accident but it scared me. While Sejuani caught her breath, I asked what she was thinking. Every time I wanted something, she would ruin her life to provide it. I wasn't going to stop being her friend if she said "no"._

 _I had never seen her cry before. She took my hand._

 _I'm not a nice person. When I lose my temper, I don't lash out physically, but emotionally. All this time, I would have accepted her love and she said_ nothing _. Instead, she had nearly killed us both in an accident because she thought I was too greedy to want anything less than total submission._

 _I kissed her, gently, to weaken her defence, then dropped her seat and mounted her. She moaned as I licked her neck and massaged her breasts. With so much feedback, I thought she might come from that alone. Eventually, she threw me aside. I earned a colourful bruise where my thigh struck the handbrake._

 _Sejuani didn't want to risk making love to me outside a relationship. I meant too much to her. For the first time in her life, she had refused me._

 _I was overjoyed._

 _We spent time as a couple. A week later, I was in her bed. A month later, I discovered that she_ could _orgasm without direct contact, a magical power if ever there was one. I don't think it's all that good for her but she rewards me if I misbehave._

 _I reached the Olympics but a chronic pain in my shoulder blossomed on the flight. Overwork and neglect had cost me full movement of my arm. I couldn't compete. I didn't even have the confidence to teach. Sejuani didn't lecture me this time. Unable to support myself, I moved into her flat. Neither of us talked as if it was the next stage. Hope was too precious to risk. The first week she was on nights, I cried myself to sleep. Eventually, I grew accustomed to her absence and hated myself for it but we needed her income._

 _I had worked part-time in a jeweller's to support my training. Once the pain had gone, I increased my hours. My control and precision translated well and I progressed rapidly. There was no official promotion but I proudly recall the day that my employer referred to me as their "bench jeweller"._

 _I didn't want to stay in the backroom forever, and opportunity knocked. One of our customers was from an organisation, flush with public funding. They introduced schoolchildren to practical disciplines. Their focus was engineering but they were deeply impressed with my craft and relative youth. After talking shop for an hour, they asked if I would join their academy. They could provide the necessary teaching qualifications while I worked as an assistant._

 _Sejuani was my rock. We had rough patches but, as time passed, it became clear that she was mine forever. I was dying for her to propose. When she didn't, I took the initiative. A ring was too dainty for my gorgeous tomboy. I never liked men's jewellery, too silly or apologetic, so I made her a bracelet, a wide, solid band that was more armour than decoration._

 _When I proposed, it wasn't my finest hour. The sky was overcast and pregnant with rain. I had chosen a romantic pier as our backdrop. Sejuani loved it here. She loved the names of the yachts. I would rest my head on her chest while she told me the myth behind every_ Grendel _,_ Norn _and_ Cú Chullain _, her strong arms around me. I loved feeling her muscles tighten against my back when she felt the urge to hold me that little bit closer. Her hands were perfect, larger than mine but delicate enough to perform little miracles upon my skin._

 _That day, there were no yachts, just a pair of rusty freighters. I don't know what happened. Instead of building a mood with our routine of snuggling and story-telling, I had to jump to the main course. I dropped to one knee, banged my leg and squeaked out a proposal through clenched teeth._

 _Sejuani would have looked so much better doing this._

 _Her legs quivered. She covered her face as if she could blind the world to her loud sobbing. Underneath her shirt, I could see the line of her ribcage move with each convulsion, my poor, stubborn Sejuani, ashamed of beauty without compare._

 _The dam broke. She tackled me to the ground, smothering me with wet kisses and whimpering, "I do", "I love you so much" and "thank you" in endless combinations. The rear of my blouse was damp and filthy. I swore my bra had caught on something, a nail, a splinter?_

 _I had hoped that she would sweep me off my feet and carry me along the pier but I didn't complain as the weight of her body felt_ very _nice. I giggled at the thought that people were watching our display and tutting their disapproval. Though it was tempting to hook my leg around her waist and caress her bottom with my foot, she gets embarrassed easily and I couldn't be mean, especially as she… loved me… she_ really _loved me and… wanted to spend the rest of her life with me._

 _When it sunk in, I wrapped everything around her, squeezing our bodies together as if they would become one. I cried freely. I didn't care if it wasn't perfect. I didn't want anything to change, least of all my sweet, vulnerable Sejuani._

* * *

 _I awoke with a new sense of purpose. If we were to bond, I had to be the catalyst. Looking down at my pillow, the receptacle of my dream, my hair, sweat and spit, skin flakes held with grease, a drop of blood from an old cut on my lip, all that I am, both vile and pure, I had an idea._

 _I would send her the dream of my proposal._

 _Walking into the night, I journeyed across her territory, navigating a safe route with my hawk spirit. When I reached her encampment, with numb fingers, I tied my pillow case to an arrow. The shot flew, metaphorically, to Sejuani's heart._

 _Months later, we met, and the bracelet was on her arm._

 _She had_ accepted _._

* * *

I give up on sleep. Thoughts rampage through my body, howling for release.

Donning a simple top and skirt, I grab my training bow and head to the range. The hall is large enough to be an indulgence, but a celebrated one. The Archer-Queen of the Freljord should have amenities that reflect her prowess.

I hear the pitter-patter of footsteps and the thunk of steel on wood. It is reassuring that our archers take pride in their skill. I would have preferred my own company but, armed with a bow, I can ignore everything. I slide open the hatch before opening the door. Entering blind is a real danger, especially when archers combine tournaments with drinking games.

It is only Birdwoman. So the Demacians have more rigour. No doubt, she is composing a report on the laziness of my troops. Feeling hostile, I seek faults in her technique. She does not aim from a secure base. Her legs dance wildly as her head remains fixed. There is something crab-like about her movement. She hunches so deep, I wonder if she is crippled.

Her accuracy is not ideal but impressive. Building speed, she darts in, kicks off the target and somersaults. I gasp in awe. She is evidently a gymnast with a crossbow rather than a pure archer. When she lands, her shot just misses the outer bullseye.

For a woman so young, her conditioning is remarkable. I doubt there's any spare flesh on that wiry physique.

Amber eyes rotate, shining like torches. 'Who's there?' She _can_ talk. Her voice wavers. 'I… I can hear you breathing. If you mean no harm then show yourself!'

Was I panting like a lecherous old man? I can't let Tryndamere's words affect me. Perhaps Birdwoman isn't fully human and has improved senses. It would explain the eyes and crooked posture.

I step through the door. She quickly sizes me up, judging my clothes, weapon and bearing. Even when I'm dressed for battle, I'm not a clear threat. In my common garb, I look like a peasant girl who's just rolled out of the hay. After a gallon of mead and a sleepless night, I'm as tousled and flushed as a woman who's had a far better time.

'Oh,' she waves in greeting then quickly drops her hand like it brushed something hot. 'I was just… have you come to practise? Am I in the way?'

Despite her strange outfit, her voice is very plain, that of a shy girl who's out of her depth. It makes me feel protective. 'Yes, I have come to train and, no, you're not in my way.'

Overwhelmed by my friendly reply, Birdwoman smiles, rather too eagerly. She has very nice teeth. I've always been ashamed of mine. Demacia must have good dentists, another reason to ally with them.

I wouldn't fix Sejuani's teeth. I used to think they were sharp and jagged from crunching the bones of her enemies but now I see only a vampire bunny rabbit. I imagine her broken fangs, her little wounds, scraping my tongue as I kiss her deeply.

While I'm lost in thought, Birdwoman realises that she's been standing there, grinning, without saying anything. Embarrassed, she covers her face. 'Oh, thank you… sorry. Did you want to use _my_ target or…'

She is adorable. 'Oh, my,' I trace my neckline, feeling more sloshed than sultry. I am only teasing. It doesn't matter if I look foolish. 'Are all Demacians so bold?'

Her ears turn bright red. 'Erm… well, yes, but not in the way you…' her voice trails off.

I did not expect that. She is genuinely worried that she made a pass at me. Why would she consider that? I'm intrigued. 'What way _did_ I mean?' She looks ready to bolt. 'Ooh, I shouldn't make fun of you, sorry.'

'It's okay. Even back home, I… struggle with new people. I always get the wrong end of the stick or…'

…fail to complete sentences. 'You don't have to struggle with me. What's your name?'

'Quinn,' a name for both genders. I never liked mine with that horrid "e" slapped on the end, like a pink bow on a yak.

If I'm new to her, she must not recognise me. At the banquet, I had flowing blue hair, no dark bags under my eyes, and my curves were strapped into a more regal shape. Also, I can't envisage a Demacian passing up the chance to say "Your Majesty" and scrape at the floor.

The idea makes me cringe. I am tired of being Queen, fake relationships, having the world on my back, losing sleep without the woman I love.

If I could just be someone else…

'Quinn.' I like the sound of it, country air, playful spirits and roguish verve. 'It suits you.' Her disappointment is clear. She may have suffered as a child, mistaken for a boy. 'My name is Sian. I'm a scout for the Avarosan.' Her eyes go hard, resuming the feral glow of our first meeting. She repeats my alias many times. It's uncanny. I've known soldiers who perform similar rituals when processing orders. That must be how she retains information. 'Pleased to meet you.'

She removes her glove and gingerly accepts my hand. 'Likewise.' For a moment, she lightly strokes her thumb across my fingers, as if debating whether to draw them to her lips. Unfortunately, she decides on a firm handshake. At least she was thinking about it.

Gallantry from women is a rare treat for me. I recall that some martial traditions nurture same-sex desire. The Rakkor have inspired rumours. I'd never heard anything about the Demacians, though I daresay that magnificent half-dragon would give any woman ideas.

Quinn has tiny, strong hands. Her grip is warm, sweaty and insistent. After she lets go, I feel a sudden urge to lick my palm and know her taste. I am going mad with loneliness. Even if I'm undercover, I must affect some virtue. 'Are you not sleeping? I know the chill can stay all night long if it reaches your bones. Do you want any more bedding?'

'Oh, I'm fine, thank you. I slept after the meal. I'm a night owl so if complications arise then…'

'I understand.' A watchwoman, it's good that she has leave to roam. Jarvan must have faith in her instincts.

'My room is wonderful. I grew up in a barn, so any bed is a luxury. My partner _loves_ his perch. Few hosts acknowledge him at all.'

'Your partner?' She means the eagle but there's no way "Sian" would know that. Anivia must have organised the perch behind my back. For once, her meddling is welcome.

'Valor, he's exploring the wilderness, trying Freljord cuisine.' It's clear that she's proud of her unusual friend, and surprising people with his identity makes a good ice-breaker. 'He's a Demacian eagle.'

'I hope he doesn't get lost. There are some big predators out there.'

'He'll be fine. I'm glad he's enjoying himself. He was a nightmare on the journey, bothering the horses and "pre-emptively" striking bandits that wouldn't come near us. I thought that Shyvana was going to eat him!'

'Is that likely?' Never mind that. Eaten by Shyvana, is that arousing?

'If she ever catches him!' She can joke when talking about Valor, curious. I've always been torn about people who socialise with animals and make them a crutch in human company. It's lazy to mock. They adapt to chaos and indifference by finding understandable complexity within basic patterns. I think we all do that. 'I'm kidding. Shyvana's a big softy around His Majesty. She wouldn't eat anyone if it upset him.'

I'm starting to feel jealous. 'That's good to know. She must be very loyal.'

'Just a bit, she'd sleep at the foot of his bed if he'd let her.'

'She can always keep _my_ feet warm.'

Quinn laughs awkwardly. 'Erm… yeah… I wouldn't tell her that.' She goes quiet and shuffles away.

I'm coming on too strong. Am I trying to bully Quinn, force her to confront a secret longing that may not exist? I'm so angry at my own repression that I'm laying my vice on her. If I'm in no state to handle the power of anonymity, I should resume course and take up my bow. 'Sorry, I was drinking earlier and I get a bit silly when I'm tired. I came here to practise because I couldn't sleep.'

'It's fine. Don't let me stop you.'

I set up a fair distance from Quinn. All I need is one target and one arrow, purity. I never wanted anything to do with violence but I had to sublimate this urge. All my dreams hinged on being an insider. I could not do something as radical as love women.

Archery was a hidden gem, buried within the repellent machismo and bombast of war, instead of noise, a beautiful, silent dialogue between life and motion. What began as a distraction became a righteous calling. I was _good_ at this. There was no angst, fear or hatred. I could reduce the world to a single point and hit it every time. It felt so natural that I marvelled at how anyone struggled. Apparently, my focus was unique.

Circles echo from a target like ripples on a lake. I count them down… one hundred… eighty… sixty…

Zero.

Peace.

I don't recall letting go. I am nothing… and I am reborn. An arrow quivers in my target.

Again.

I breathe. Air fills my body, clean, flowing from my lungs, irrigating my veins.

…

My skin crawls. Yellow eyes are watching me with intent. Frantically, I turn and see Quinn gawping. 'Wow,' she says. 'I don't mean to stare but… you're _really_ good.'

I regain my composure. 'Thank you.'

She is nearly bouncing with excitement. 'I always trained to _fight_ rather than shoot. It's all very modern, very practical. I love it… but seeing your classical poise and your…' she looks away briefly, 'arms, I… appreciate what I've missed.'

My biceps often languish in the dark of my bosom. It's rare for me to feel potent rather than decorative. Quinn is very small. Compared to her, I'm a large, virile barbarian. At any moment, I could grab a fistful of hair, push her face into the ground and plunder her virtue.

After challenging the rule of might for so long, I never dreamt that _I_ could fill that role… but now, I see Quinn on all-fours, baring her throat in ecstasy, my nails marking her flesh.

What monster has this girl awakened? I must show mercy and benevolence, use my power to nurture Quinn's. 'Trust me, the feeling's mutual. I could never attempt your backflips.'

'Oh, I just move quickly. I've got no control. Valor despairs at how I flap!'

'Your friend is that critical?'

'Positively!'

Can she _really_ talk with the bird? I'm not sure if there's a polite way of asking. A sentient animal like Anivia or Volibear should have attended our banquet. Either Demacia is hiding something or Quinn is more damaged than I thought. Both possibilities are dangerous. I must avoid the subject until I know more. 'If I show discipline, it's because I learnt archery for that purpose. I hate bloodshed.'

Quinn slumps. My reason did sound oppressively noble. 'I was just another socially awkward peasant-girl who dreamt of knighthood. Because I was frail, I needed a shortcut. With a crossbow, you just pull a trigger... dead.' She aims her weapon at my chest. I'm too experienced to show weakness but my heart skips a beat. If she meant harm, she could have easily killed me. 'When you close the gap, you don't even have to aim. All I've done is follow the path of least resistance.'

'That would serve you well in the dark corners of the Freljord.'

'With enough light, there'd be no call for my trade.'

'Or mine.'

'Off the battlefield, you're an artist.' Quinn ruefully clenches her hand. 'I'm just a thug.'

'Nonsense, you could easily be a dancer.'

'I don't know.' She's avoiding my gaze, inviting pursuit. 'If I had _your_ elegance…'

I offer my weapon. 'Do you want some pointers?'

'I'd only embarrass myself.'

'No you won't.' I close her fingers around the bow. 'Come on.' I hold her waist and guide her into position. Her hip-bones are very prominent, exquisitely forged little tools waiting to be used. 'You're left-handed?'

'Yes… is that a problem?'

'No, I was just curious. With your fighting style, I could easily picture a blade in your empty hand.'

'Valor's my right hand. If you gave me a sword, I'd cut myself.'

'I know the feeling.' Her posture is overly dramatic, as if she's posing for a sculpture. I tidy up what I can. 'A wide base is very good but you're too low. You'll only see what's right under your nose if you do the splits.' I guide her feet closer together. Her calves are like girders, holding up a shrine. 'Keep your pelvis square. You're tilting… no that's too far.'

'I can't find my centre.'

'You're doing fine.' Her buttocks are firm and tight with a deliciously steep curve at the top of her strong thighs. I feel a bit… wobbly in comparison.

I place my hands either side of her abdomen. She's like a young tree, hard and knotted with muscle. I can feel every sudden breath at my exploration. I wrap an arm across the top of breasts and push back her collarbone. 'Stand tall and proud,' I say. 'Look up. Imagine the sky, a mountain. See your power and beauty reflected there.' It breaks me to see her with no confidence. 'Relax your shoulders.' Her hair is tangled and a bit oily. Strands break off around my fingers. The purple colour is a dye that stains. I lift her fine porcelain chin. She sucks on her fair lips.

I think about kissing her. It would be so easy. I don't love her but… she's _here_. Damn you, Sejuani, for being so close yet so far. My body craves your absent touch.

Now that Quinn is upright, I can see that she's a woman and not a creepy bird-thing. She's taller than I presumed, her teeth by my jugular. With her solid core, she might be heavier than me. If we fought then she could hold _me_ down and… no, I am _still_ in control, guiding her with my touches, massaging her neck. 'You're tensing up again. You need to draw the string with your _body_ , not your arms.' My hair skims her temple as I follow her trajectory. 'Now fire.'

The arrow misses by a yard.

Quinn looks at me. Our faces are barely an inch apart. She laughs in desperation. 'That was awful!'

'Accuracy takes time. You did well to shoot.'

'I know the basics already. I should do better.'

'Hush!' I kiss her on the cheek. 'Don't be so hard on yourself.' She cowers like a mouse. The fog lifts. I've crossed a line. This isn't drawing Quinn from her shell. I'm breaking in, scoffing my due like the Winter's Claw. 'Oh, I didn't mean to impose.'

'No… no, I'm…' she hides her glow, 'not used to being touched is all.'

'I'll stop if you don't like it.'

'I don't… _dis_ like it, I'm just… I haven't trained with another human since my brother died.'

'I'm sorry.'

'It's not your fault.' She smiles. 'It's good that you…ahem.' Quinn stammers before she sounds too eager. 'I need to spread my wings. Get used to people. You're helping.'

'I'm glad.' She looks disappointed. Was that an invitation? I don't trust my judgement at all right now. Perhaps, if I caught up on sleep, I could enjoy this dance without hurting us both.

She must have sensed that I'm pulling away. 'Do you come here often?'

I can't have her asking around like "Sian" is part of the castle furniture. 'Not really but…' I yawn, 'I can make an effort while you're here.'

'Oh, don't put yourself out.'

'Stop that. You're nice. Why wouldn't I make the most of you?' I stroke her arm. It's a deliberate gesture, more than friendly but only if she wants it to be. 'Goodnight, Quinn.'

'Goodnight, Sian.'

* * *

I return to my bedroom, hot and weary. The sheets are cool, crisp and invigorating, urging me to passion, not rest. It's impossible to relax as my thighs brush the linen but the very thought of coming alone moves me to tears. I ache to be held and touched. My bosom feels empty. I need to be strong for my people but I am going _mad_.

By the time I fall asleep, it is dawn.


	3. Chapter 3

The Demacians pull no punches. There are six of us at the table, Nunu and Tryndamere at my side, opposite Lux, Jarvan and Xin Zhao. Nunu is my secret weapon. He knows the resources of the Freljord better than anyone. Lux's dogged questions about fifty year crop forecasts, hunting quotas, road-building and population diversity are plainly dispatched. Nunu doesn't have to learn my reports, he sees through the matrix of geography as a mathematical savant perceives numbers.

Tryndamere is both confident and sanguine about our military strength. I had warned him not to oversell. Any questions about goals and principles are my field. Jarvan is not simple. He has formal training in ethics and can divide style from substance. As I can't compete with his education, I err on the side of looking a fool rather than a hypocrite. Exhaustion dulls my gravitas but I do not offend him.

Xin does not speak much. He is there as Jarvan's bodyguard. Lux is our true opposition. Behind her vacant grin and manic laughter is a mind like a bear trap. I can't help my resentment. She is younger than me but far brighter. The children are leaving me for dust. Mercifully, I do not find her attractive. I would not have coped with Shyvana… or Quinn. I would have spent the whole day rubbing her calf with my foot and watching her squirm.

When we are finished, I praise Nunu to the skies, utterly amazed that a youth could handle the pressure of international diplomacy. He grins and tells me that it's a different world. It's easy to forget the consequences when they pass him by. If all life were driven from this land, he would remain, somehow. Thankfully, he is kind and values our friendship.

Likewise, Tryndamere is not invested. He doesn't care for the Demacians and feels no need to impress them, even if he likes the idea of a big army to "give Sejuani's fat arse a good spanking". His lewd comments about women grow frequent and conspiratorial. I don't know what he is thinking. It could be that my denial of him was compelling evidence of my sexuality. Maybe he suspects nothing and just finds it funny to hurt and embarrass me through innuendo.

I would rather think that he is a shallow egotist than I am hopelessly transparent.

* * *

At night, I can forget myself. "Sian" doesn't have to mind the fate of countries, just one little Demacian. It's like stepping into a novel and basking in a stranger's romantic drama.

I had reflected on my behaviour, perhaps too much when other subjects required my focus. Quinn had welcomed my aggression but that was no excuse to override her unspoken fears. I want her to leave the Freljord happy, not regretful.

My plan is to overcome her shyness, encourage her to speak up. If she could say "no" to my advances, there'd be less chance of crossing her boundaries. Tonight, I will be more straightforward and _court_ rather than seduce.

Quinn is waiting for me. Her eyes light up. I understand why people keep dogs that are always pleased to see you. There's something pet-like and asexual about her, with that pretty, forgettable face and modest frame. Her tight body is a hidden joy. She nearly skips across the empty hall, so light on her feet. If she straightened her back, she really could be a dancer, not an eager child.

Her energy falters. 'Um... Sian, are you all right?'

I wasn't expecting that. 'Is something the matter?'

'Did you sleep _at all_?'

Of course, I'd removed my cosmetics along with my finery. I probably look old enough to be Quinn's mother. 'No… not really.'

'You should go to bed.' She nearly touches my arm. 'I'll be all right.'

With a swing of my hips, I raise a flask of whisky and two cups. 'Want to help me sleep?'

Quinn stammers. Her gaze darts everywhere except me. 'I… are… you inviting me to your room?'

I laugh. The royal chambers would soon give away my identity. 'Fun as that sounds, I'm happy to drink here.'

'Oh… sorry, I didn't mean to imply…'

She's too much for my weak scruples. While she's watching the cracks in the floor, I kiss her on the cheek. 'Stop apologising. Let's sit down and have a chat.' While I find chairs, I imagine Quinn's blushes, her parted lips, her fingers touching the warm spot on her face. No, Quinn, it's not a dream. By the time I look again, she is exactly how I pictured.

'Is everyone in the Freljord so… tactile?'

I pat the chair next to me. 'You live in the cold, you get used to snuggling.'

'I bet.' Her cape tickles my side. Those feathers are soft. I wonder if she goes to bed in them. 'You must think we're so uptight in Demacia.'

'Believe me. There are people here that are _much_ harder work than you.' I open the flask. The scent is marvellous. I had picked something at random but this might have class… or as much class as any beverage can have in a land of frozen nostrils.

'Really?'

'They wear horned helmets and ride boars.'

'Oh… you mean the Winter's Claw?' she says proudly. Quinn's done her homework.

'Yes…' the very thought of Sejuani makes me guilty and sad. I _must_ find out what happened to her. Once the Demacians have left, I may triple the guard on "Udyr Patrol" and take him alive. He's a slippery devil but not one to die for Sejuani's cause, unlike the rest of her band.

When I look down at my cup, it's filled to the brim. This isn't good. I really need a hug and a cry… and sex, if I'm being honest. A shot of deep intimacy would be so much better than getting drunk and going undercover to perform a silly dance with a foreign emissary.

'Sian?'

I blink away my sorrow. Quinn really does care. I see it in those big, yellow eyes and tangled mane, like a stray cat, helping you keep watch at night. She is very sweet, more than a consolation prize. I muster a half-smile. 'Oh, I was thinking of… it doesn't matter.' I go to fill her cup.

'I don't really drink.' She is a good girl, of course. I don't want to press. 'But…' her voice, close to my ear, sounds hesitant and a little bit naughty. 'I wouldn't mind a… taste.'

Ooh, Quinn, are you going to bite me? I feel all exposed and shivery. If that's how you're going to be, I'm glad you've spared me the shame of drinking alone. I need to retain some dignity for both our sakes. 'Don't have too much if you're not used to it.'

Quinn gnaws at her lip and stares into the alluring darkness. Gathering her courage, she downs it in one. She does flinch but swallows without coughing or choking. 'Oh, my!' She gasps. 'It almost hurt, going down but… ooh, now it's all warm and…' she rubs her tummy and purrs, 'I feel a bit giddy. It's nice.'

I stroke her back and watch her thaw. This may have been the right decision. 'I'm glad you like it.'

'We normally drink ale in Demacia, if we drink at all. I've never felt something just… work. It's much better.'

'Don't get carried away.' I vaguely recall my first time. I _vividly_ recall waking up in a clearing with a terrible headache and insect bites all over my alcohol-soaked breasts. Apparently, I'd mounted a table, suffered an existential crisis partway through stripping and fled into the wilderness without my top and boots. Quinn deserves better than that. 'You'll make yourself ill.'

She looks at me through pale eyelashes. 'I'll trust you with my cup.'

'You _may_ regret saying that…' I reward her enthusiasm with another shot. 'There are some very good wines from Demacia.'

'I can't imagine drinking wine. That's a… Xin or a Lux thing. I'm a scout, not a lady.'

'I'm no lady. It never stopped me.' The thought of wine makes me wet my lips. 'We can't make it in the Freljord and it's expensive to buy.'

'You have other drinks.'

'We do… Gragas lured many with his talents, though his work's a bit rich for me. Everyone drinks mead and tells me about this and that variety, but I can't tell whether they're lying or it's _all_ too sweet. Whisky's not bad. I can actually taste something apart from sugar. It's "clean" if that makes any sense?'

'I don't know.' Quinn won't taste anything, swallowing like that. 'Perhaps I need to drink more?'

'I thought you Demacians took longer to corrupt.'

'We do. You're just very good at it.'

We both laugh. When was the last time I relaxed? I can't remember anything but stress, war and heartache. Flippant conversation, gentle company, these are normal things that anyone should treasure.

Did I ever have them?

I wonder about Quinn, talking to her bird. Maybe she feels the same. 'Where is your friend?'

'Valor? Oh, he's off hunting.'

Does Quinn have a way of sharing his view? Their connection is fascinating but I'm far more worried about Lux using her magic to accomplish the same effect. He may be gathering information while he's out there. Even so, I can't force the issue without implying there's something to hide. 'Again? We already have farmers over-working their lands and hunters proving their mettle.'

'Should I call him back?' If she's willing to do that, she may be innocent, unless it's an elaborate ruse to throw me off the scent. The classic response would be to deny all control. I suspect that Quinn doesn't play the game. There's still the possibility that Lux has done something without Quinn's knowledge. I should let this be.

'No, I was joking. I'm sure the Freljord will outlive us all.'

'Is it very beautiful?' There's longing in her voice. The tales of our landscape fire imaginations throughout Runeterra. The Freljord is a teenage dream, a symbol of adventure, that Quinn _needs_ to be real.

'Oh you would not believe…' I feel the stirrings of patriotic fervour. 'It is familiar and fantastical, raw and romantic, sublime and savage.' I giggle at my words. 'Listen to me, trying to be a poet! It's hard to convey the magic of the place with one image… a solitary arctic fox on a windswept plain of white… ancient carvings in endless rock behind young evergreens. The Freljord is _everything_ at the same time. That which should not co-exist… the impossible… to… together.' My voice cracks. War and love, Sejuani and I, maybe our relationship is just a reflection of the Freljord's ancient paradox. I sniff back tears.

Quinn takes my hand. 'Are you all right, Sian?'

'I'm… growing sentimental… places, people…' The human contact opens the floodgates. I throw my arms around Quinn and weep into her shoulder. Her stiff arms move up and around, like a golem trying to learn emotion. Her purple dye smells like our chandlery, oil, tallow, adhesive. It's not enough. I need the scent of a person. I fall into her bosom. Her clothes haven't been washed. Scouts aren't known for their hygiene. There is no perfume or heady hormonal blend of sexual heat, only stale sweat, like a sick child, bedridden for days in the same outfit. My forehead presses into her breastbone. It is like holding a girl and not a woman.

I stop feeling sorry for myself and pity Quinn. She has missed a crucial stage on the way to adulthood. I don't know which one, childhood freedom? Rebellion? The profound realisation of your agency _and_ helplessness, a contradiction that follows you to the grave? I pull back. She looks exactly how I imagined, high shoulders, flushed skin, lowered eyes, ashamed of the emotion that I've forced upon her. I feel disgusting. 'Sorry. It came so quickly. I couldn't hold back.'

'It's okay.'

'It's not okay. I shouldn't impose on a stranger.' Not to mention, a stranger who seems poorly equipped to bear my demons.

'No...' Quinn paws at my hair, 'no, I'm grateful. People never open up to me. They think I'm too… weird and immature to understand anything.' She is rubbing her arm and pouting. I don't know whether to feel chastised or vindicated for my prior judgement.

'I know what you mean. I have a lot of responsibility but everyone thinks I'm in dreamland.'

'It's not fair, right? I'm old enough to kill but…' Quinn hears the loud echo of her words and goes quiet. 'I'm old enough to kill but they're right. I don't have experience with… personal things.' That must be her way of saying she's a virgin. I'm not surprised but there was no guarantee. As a peasant, your "honour" is discounted and sex is a free option. You can't always afford to eat or drink but getting on your knees costs nothing. 'But you're different. You're far too worldly and… persuasive.'

'You mean "old and creepy"?' I _so_ need to catch up on my beauty sleep.

'No, just that you're a _woman_ and not a…' her mouth twitches sadly, 'girl. I wish I were more like you.'

'You're fine as you are, Quinn.' She can grow up at her own pace, and into something better than me.

'I'm not. I've always felt incomplete but whenever I find a missing piece, another one comes adrift.' She stares into her cup. I fill it. She downs another shot and finds the will to continue. 'I had a twin brother. I loved him but… I always felt a little bit of my heart was outside my body, even when he was near.' Her cloak bunches up around her ears. 'He died and I stalked the land where he fell, searching for what I'd lost... and I found Valor.'

'I did wonder how you met.'

'I don't know why Valor was there. Even if he could tell me, I don't think he'd say.' Quinn looks to the heavens. 'There's a lot of speculation. The bards write songs about him bearing the soul of my twin. I believed that for a while but… I thought… what if Valor _himself_ loves me, regardless? If I look for mystic patterns, I deny what is real.'

'That's very wise, Quinn.' Perhaps my love for Sejuani is no cosmic tragedy, written by the stars. Maybe we're just two women who fell together in difficult circumstances. Destiny can be a cruel mistress. I'd like to think that she doesn't run my whole life.

'Really? I don't think anyone's called me "wise".' There's hope in her voice. 'You don't think it's silly that an eagle could love someone as we do?'

I've always walked with spirits. They've been greater comfort than most people. My hawk follows me to this day. However, it's not them I contemplate. I recall Sejuani in Volibear's arms. His devotion made me feel so empty and forsaken. Tryndamere would die for me because of whom he is, a frenzied berserker, bred to fall in combat. Volibear would die for Sejuani because of whom _she_ is. 'I don't think it's silly at all.'

Quinn beams like the sun breaking through the clouds, a flower yearning to bloom. 'Thank you. Most people assume I'm some… holy avenger who's not talking about real emotion, or that I'm broken, mad and lonesome.' In her cup, she watches her murky, distorted reflection. 'Well… I am all of those things… but that has nothing to do with Valor.'

'You feel so normal _, so human_ , that it makes you want to scream, burst into tears or collapse but other people see a child, a misfit... or a goddess.' That word sounded thrilling on Sejuani's lips but I'd rather be a simple woman that she could touch. With growing need, I wrap my arm around Quinn's waist and pull her to my side. 'You're not alone.'

Quinn stares at me with open grief, like I am painful to behold, a mistake she has made. Just when I think she is about to cry, she bites me on the cheek. I feel the whisky on her kiss, cool and wet. 'Uh… was that all right?' Quinn has spent years in the wild. She has a feral side, untouched by the fake ceremony of prescribed intimacy. Her aggression was unintended, which makes it doubly exciting. I am aroused and ashamed.

Floating back, I tap her on the nose, a way to maintain our connection without drowning in it. 'I did it to you. I can hardly say "no".'

'Okay,' she keeps meeting my gaze and looking away. Her lashes flutter. I'm not sure if it's a nervous twitch or if she's trying to be coy. 'Do you… have a husband?'

I could tell her anything but one lie is enough. There has been more precious honesty in our false dialogue than in all my noble endeavours. Even my predatory deceit is a truer likeness. 'I do.' Quinn pales at my words. 'We help each other but… our marriage is convenient, not loving.'

'Was it arranged?'

'In a sense. I arranged it myself.' I can't face Quinn's disappointment. She probably saw a glimmer of hope in my boldness, a pity I am just another slave to convention.

'Is it okay if I ask why?'

'We had to merge two extended families for the good of my tribe. The Avarosan weren't always… this, living under high ceilings, behind strong walls. Ten years ago, we weren't even called the Avarosan.'

'Wow, you've come a long way.'

'Yes…' I remember the leaner years as if they were yesterday but they seem like two different centuries. My mother claimed immortal blood. I keep silent on the matter as I don't like to boast without evidence but my perception of time is fittingly askew. 'It was the right decision.'

Who am I fooling? There was no decision. To achieve my goals, I had to be Queen, embodying wisdom, community and prosperity. That was my sworn duty. There was no woman in my life and never would be until…

Sejuani, if you came so much as halfway, I would cast aside my halo, betray the dream of a united Freljord and allow your private domain. I am no martyr. Fellow goddess, there are few blessings I need from you, a friendly conversation between equals, your shoulder next to mine as we see the world through different lenses, the heavenly joy of not being alone.

But you are stubborn and pure, and I love you for it. You live without compromise, while I assume a false name and tease a vulnerable youth who would likely surrender all for a kind word.

I don't blame Quinn. It's not like I'm any better.

She fidgets. I'm amazed all those little movements don't wear her out. Finally, she works up the courage to speak. 'Was there someone else?'

'Yes… but we can't be together.' My next words are a dangerous comfort. Lost within the complex wilderness of life, acceptance can be a safe prison. 'Love isn't always enough.' Quinn looks forlorn. What girl her age wants to hear that true love isn't the strongest force in the world? Granted, she is Demacian. They're more into justice. I hope, for her sake, that she rejects my words as weak and cynical. 'Are you married?'

'What… _me_?' Her laugh is raucous. 'I'm too young, like _way_ too young.'

That was something I didn't want to hear. I'd assumed that Quinn was a late bloomer, not an actual child. I feel sick. 'How old are you?'

'I'm nineteen.'

Okay, that's not far off my original guess. I'm still a bad person but not irredeemable. 'Plenty are married with children by your age. Before we had the resources to free people from their roles, women had to settle down unless they proved their other skills were crucial.'

'I know. In the Demacian countryside, we grow up fast. I think being a twin can shut you out of chances and obligations. People look at you and, for an instant, they see only half a person. Sometimes that moment is all it takes for life to pass you by.'

Quinn's tale draws my sympathy. I'm going to weep again if I'm not careful. She deserves a cool mentor, not "Ashe, the Melting Snow Queen". 'That's awful. I'm sorry, Quinn.'

'Don't be. The good outweighed the bad. I'm just trying to explain why I feel too young for marriage.'

'I understand.'

'Even if I were older, scouts aren't exactly wife material.'

The only domestic talent I have is giving orders but if I were to choose one... 'my husband would agree.'

'Oh! I wasn't talking about…' Quinn spills whisky in her lap. 'For you, I'd make an exception.'

I grin at her. 'Would you now? I'd marry _you_ in a flash. A member of the royal entourage… what man could possibly refuse?'

Quinn stammers. 'Oh, I don't hold much sway. My… scant authority isn't worth a pretty girl who's always at home.'

'You _are_ pretty.'

She blushes so easily. Her fair skin betrays her delight while she hides her smile. I revel in my power and envy her weakness. Oh, Quinn, I'll call you "pretty" a thousand times if it makes you that happy, and I can do so much more. She recovers enough to return the compliment. 'I don't think anyone would say that with _you_ here.'

'Charmer.' I kiss her forehead and casually stroke her hair. The dye feels unpleasant but it works my imagination, all those hidden depths awaiting my discovery… but the surface grows on me as the locks bunch and separate in unique ways. If I closed my eyes and reached out, I'd never mistake her for anyone else. 'No boyfriend?'

'Oh, no… no…' she draws out that last denial. 'Boys don't even notice me.'

'They're just shy.' At her age, definitely.

She concedes without enthusiasm. 'If you say so.'

I trace the outline of her ear from top to lobe. The heat scrambles my thoughts and burns through my opposition. Against all judgement, I dive into a perilous rapid. One subject had lurked, unspoken, until now. I am pushing a snowball down a hill. 'What about girls?' I whisper.

Quinn sits bolt upright, revealing a focus I hadn't seen beyond her training. 'Erm… I…' sucking her teeth, she watches my lips, then my chest, then my lips again. 'I don't know. Is that normal here?' She's trembling as though I'd voiced my intention to pounce.

'Not really. Survival depended on stability and procreation. If you were strong, you had to breed and provide a steady environment so your children could fight the chaos outside.' It's all very logical. I wish I could hate my words more than I do. 'Preferring your own gender is… not persecuted but childish and irresponsible. If you persist then you must do it in secret.'

'What do you think?' She already knows. I conveyed enough regret with the tone of my voice, the turn of my head, and every twitch of my hands. Maybe our thoughts are one, and she craves to hear them spoken.

'I want to do the right thing but… it's hard. A life without someone to kiss you goodnight, soothe your pain, love your body as you love theirs.' My control slips. I never meant to disclose this much so quickly. 'I can face the world without a hand in mine, there's always a distraction, but when it's just the darkness, an empty bed, and this overwhelming need to be _touched_ …' I hide my tears with another draught of whisky.

'The person you loved was a woman?'

'Yes.' And there it is. I couldn't even be this candid with Sejuani. She's too preoccupied with killing me or herself to engage in conversation. Thank you, Quinn. I'm glad we crossed paths, even if I walked some dark entries to get here. 'Are you okay with that?' I've staked a lot on her approval. If she rejects me now, I may fall apart.

'I am.' She throws her arms around me with bracing strength, granting acceptance we both need. Our ribs compress with exquisite pain. She clutches me like I'm a fading dream. 'Thank you so much for telling me. No one talks about… _our_ love in Demacia. It's like… it's like being the sole drop of rain in a sea of loneliness.' Our cheeks brush together as Quinn draws back. Her amber eyes and virgin lips are silently pleading. This girl has never been kissed, has waited for this moment. I know her thoughts. Contact is not enough. It can be bought, negotiated. What she needs is the magnetism, the unconscious.

It is there. I am attracted to her sweetness, her potential, her scrawny, muscular body. I make the first move, an inch forward then aside, letting her nose pass mine. Quinn shuts her eyes, of course, because that's what "real" lovers do. She can't bear to know her movements and direct them. She wants them to be natural. Dear Quinn, you just bump your head that way.

Luckily for you, my eyes are open.

Her lips are a wall. They mash against mine. She pushes hard, trying to find that new spiritual connection. Relax, Quinn, you don't fuse with your partner. It's just skin on skin. Learn to enjoy it for all it is. I slow her down and suck gently on her lower lip. She relaxes and copies me. I hold her delicate jaw, feeling the beautiful, sensual undulation of flesh and bone.

I am melting. I am _finally_ melting. I needed it so badly… I…

…

I wake up in her arms. Did I fall asleep? How disgraceful of me. I should talk to Quinn. She'll want assurance that she did everything right, fulfilled my expectations… but I'm so tired. Her kiss was like a drug. I'm warm, numb and dead to the world. I should talk… I really… really should…

My hair is wet. She is crying. I don't have the energy to rise. All I can do is turn enough to kiss her neck and murmur. 'Are you okay?'

'Sorry… I… don't deserve you. You're exhausted and away from the one you love and I'm taking advantage.'

'You're helping.' This makes her cry louder. She sniffs hard between little moans. 'Quinn?'

'I'm evil and useless!' "Evil"? That's a strong word. I know the Demacians are a zealous people but hearing that from Quinn scares me. Did she ever combat her desire with self-harm? I dread to think that she wasn't ready for this. If I cast her from a prickly, but safe, nest into a lethal tailspin of shame, I will never pardon myself. 'I thought that it was okay to steal your warmth because you were tough but…'

'Quinn!' I want to shake her but I can hardly move. 'You need to stop hating yourself, I…' something isn't right. There's a darkness in this room, in my thoughts, a darkness that stretches into... 'How long was I out for?'

'Two minutes. My heartbeat was so loud, I… use it to keep time in the field.'

'Oh…' I'm having blackouts. If I don't get some rest now, I will collapse in front of Jarvan… or fall over a balustrade to my death. 'I thought it was only a second.'

'I was paralysed! You might have been dying but I couldn't let go.'

'You'd have known if something was wrong.'

'But…'

'I trust your instincts. When I walk through the night, I hear death in the wind. You're a hunter like me. If I were in peril, your inner fire would blaze.' Thoughts come and go but my words thrum with the clarity and purpose of a mantra. The sublime focus, that guides my bow, also unifies the cracked prism of self to a single ray of light. Even as I wallow in the depths of human frailty, I channel some higher power, from within or without. My unwavering centre is a blessing and a blight. 'Please don't fear death when you can live.'

Quinn's breath is charged with emotion. 'I… want to _live_.' Hands tighten, eager little claws, hungry despite her guilt. She nuzzles my cheek. 'You should… come to bed. We don't have to do anything. Just let me watch over you.'

It's a bewitching offer. I wish I could say yes but the threat of discovery is too high. A search party would turn the whole castle upside-down if I slept in. 'I'm sorry. My absence would be noted.' I kiss her on the mouth. 'I'm not saying that to be kind.'

'All right.' Quinn is gracious in her disappointment, a shame I could not reward her courage.

'There's no need to rush. You're not obliged to sleep with the first person who kisses you.' I absent-mindedly sweep Quinn's hair from her eyes. 'Have a think and I'll do the same.'

She draws my hand to her lips. 'I'll be here. Whatever happens… thank you for the memory.'

* * *

As I lie awake in my room, I picture a world where Quinn and I don't have to pretend. Once my rule is firmly established, I could use my power to spread tolerance… but is change by royal decree possible without making a window to every soul? Would the mice become rats while the cats are at play?

The Winter's Claw tolerate _no one_ but there are rumours abound that Sejuani openly favours women. It is troubling to think that we might encounter less prejudice amongst barbarians. I guess her culture is blind to all metrics but force. The line between good and evil is blurry, subject to manoeuvre by powerful interests, while the line between the strong and the weak is death… purity without equal.

I walk the longer road but I knew that from the beginning.

Sweeping my arms through the cold expanse, I bridle at how easy it must be for Sejuani to warm her bed. She earns what she takes. All she has to do is seize a girl by the hair and drag her to paradise. Maybe Sejuani is arching her back in pleasure while I toss and turn. Maybe she has a harem.

No, I can't imagine it.

* * *

 _I am in a tent. Rain pounds on the canvas overhead. Laid across a bier is a dark form, swathed in bloody fur. Distant words bubble from unseen depths. Malformed echoes herald each call. 'Ashe.' Even with all the noise, I recognise Sejuani's voice, deep, slow and stagey. Giving speeches to restless warriors above howling winds must have tempered her delivery. She toys with each sound like a blade. Her classical grace would shame any actress. 'Why are you doing this to me?'_

 _I am torn between rage and need. Frantically, I reach out and find a hollow in the shape of her body. I stumble away, frustrated and horrified in equal measure. 'Doing what? Finding comfort because the woman I love drives me away, again and again?'_

 _'You are all I want… I do not seek happiness and comfort, only you.'_

 _'Then come to me! How many times must I offer my hand before you accept?'_

 _'I…' the shadows flicker. 'Too long… I have been in darkness too long… and now, I am the darkness. I can never leave.'_

 _'What can I do?' My throat burns with the force of my scream. 'You accuse me of betrayal then say we can never be together? Tell me! What can I do?'_

 _New frequencies join the chorus, low and rumbling. The storm swells with distant thunder. 'She doesn't know.'_

 _A hostile presence fills the tent, a shape formed by the rhythms of the rain, invisible sonic ripples fleeing the sides of a monstrous figure. 'Volibear?'_

 _'Perhaps. I am at my limit. You could be hearing me… or hearing yourself.'_

 _My back touches the wall. If Volibear has come to punish me then I should know my crime. 'What happened to Sejuani? Is she okay?'_

 _'No…' the presence crackles with directionless energy. I don't think it knows my exact location. 'My poor girl, my great hope, was lost, following your star. I can not find her.'_

 _'Following_ me _? She burns every bridge I try to cross!' Fire scorches the ground in a perverse illustration._

 _'Willing or not,_ you _have led her.' Invisible claws gouge the canvas by my head. 'She gave_ everything _to preserve your mockery of life.'_

 _'What could I possibly gain from her destruction?' Light pours out of me, driving him back. 'I am not a goddess or a star. If you are Volibear, tell her to stop making sacrifices and reach out!'_

 _'She can't.'_

 _'Then I have nothing!'_

 _Sejuani speaks again. Her voice is breaking. 'I believe in…'_

 _'No!' I charge through the storm and plunge into her darkness. 'I don't want you to believe in me. I want_ you _!' The bitter cold shatters my arm. I hold the bloody stump and wake up, screaming._

* * *

I can not sleep and it is _killing_ me.

* * *

Today, we are escorting the Demacians through the wilds.

I wish I could have assigned the expedition to someone else. Headaches come and go, along with my intelligence and personality. The slowest movement smears across my vision like paint as my tired brain struggles to keep pace. Unfortunately, I bear a half-earned reputation as a master scout. The Demacians will expect the privilege of my expertise.

We cope. Tryndamere is well-versed in the field and covers the basics, which allows my wandering mind to dwell on those details with personal resonance. Jarvan and, curiously, Shyvana seem pleased with my gnomic rambling. It's the first time she has expressed something more than stoic belligerence. However, the moment is spoilt by Tryndamere whispering, 'I think you're in there.'

Garen has been quiet and restless. He is a man of heroic charges and armoured glory so I guess the landscape has no appeal outside a military campaign. One view makes him pause. There is an evergreen valley between ridges, nourished by the sun as it rises through twin peaks. In reverence, he puts away his sword. 'It's a shame that Quinn isn't here. She'd have loved this.' Clearly, he is interested in nature when it relates to people. I can understand his popularity with the common folk of Demacia.

I feel warm. Just hearing Quinn's name dispels my loneliness. Realising that another gay woman is highly esteemed makes the world a friendlier place. Even if her sexuality is hidden from her peers, the chimera of acceptance is better than nothing at all. 'It is good of you to think of her.'

Garen looks impressed. 'Were you introduced? I swear Valor talks more than she does.' I recall, too late, that I shouldn't know about Quinn.

My skin crawls when Jarvan smiles. I feel trapped. Fortunately, he does not pounce. 'Quinn talks plenty. You're just comparing her to Luxanna.'

The barb does not go unheard. Lux stamps her foot and sticks her tongue out. 'Bully.'

Garen interrupts. 'Goblin.'

While the siblings argue, Shyvana hangs her head in embarrassment. Xin chuckles. 'Ah, youthful energy. Such exuberance is a marvel on the battlefield.'

Are we making progress here? The Demacians are behaving like… normal people. Maybe the spirit of the Freljord has that effect.

No, it hasn't worked on Sejuani. For all her grand talk of wide open spaces and freedom, she trembles within a frozen cage. It would take more than a bracing view to overcome her dogged refusal of my hand, when she clearly wants me.

There goes my vanity… but she wears _my_ bracelet! It is justified, surely?

Jarvan pulls me back to earth. 'You seem tired, Ashe.' He is watching me strangely. 'I pray this tour is not a strain on your health.'

'Not at all. It's my pleasure to share the Freljord with such honoured guests. If I seem dreary it's because I pale before its wondrous beauty.'

'I couldn't possibly agree but it speaks poorly of us both if we dwell on your appearance.' Jarvan is right, of course, but it wouldn't kill him to be human. With my bloodshot eyes and dry, heavy skin, I could use a bit of gallantry. 'Pardon the bird metaphor but Quinn is a night owl. If you had met, you would know that she is my eyes and ears after sundown. Your industry is impressive but you needn't prove to me that you run your domain at all hours.'

I can't give anything away. Focus… my body is water. Let the rivers become glass, each pupil, a mere window to the great beyond. They see nothing. Feel nothing. 'I am aware that she uses my training room at night… which she is welcome to, by the way… and is pleasant company but we have not spoken.'

Jarvan does not raise the subject again.


	4. Chapter 4

The Demacians close ranks to discuss their verdict. Shyvana guards their wing. It does not surprise me that the outcome is of no interest to her. No doubt, her feelings on the subject were conveyed in a single weary grunt.

She has cast aside her bipedal form. No one dares approach the reclining dragon. She looks even hungrier than Sejuani's boar.

Quinn is nowhere to be seen. I am alone, sat on the floor in a shadowy corner of the range. There is something oddly therapeutic about seeing familiar rooms from a new perspective. Gazing up, I see myself, an impressive, reliable adult, effortlessly guiding my subjects and allies.

Do our children feel safe when they look at me?

I wanted to offer the castle-bound Quinn a glimpse of the Freljord, an impossible, indifferent majesty, free of mortal prejudice, a vision to hold close when the world is vast and unkind. Have I lost my chance? If the alliance with Demacia goes ahead then she could be stationed here. However, the rarity of our connection, our mutual need, only inspires dread.

I rest my cheek on the stone. It is heavenly. My room is haunted by dreams but here… is nothing… my body, lifeless… mind, shutting down… bliss.

* * *

'Sian, can you hear me?' Someone pats down my sides, checking for injuries. I twitch once, my survival instinct briefly overriding my knowledge that it must be Quinn. 'Are you hurt? What happened?'

I'm starting to remember why I don't sleep on the floor. Any emotional reward is brutally offset by the pain of waking. My bones feel as if they'd been savaged with a tenderising mallet. 'Relax, I…' a loud yawn swallows my words, 'fell asleep. It's fine.' I'm relieved that I can still do it.

She is cradling me. I think she's washed her clothes but it's hard to tell beneath all that perfume. It seems Quinn either tries too hard or not at all. It's very cute. I just want to pull her down and educate her. My arm snakes around her neck. She sighs. 'You can't… I know this isn't my land. You know the risks but… anything could happen.' She's babbling. 'I know what it's like, wanting to destroy yourself, and everything, because you can't lie anymore, but there are people who care about you!'

Was that a confession? I lean closer. 'Oh, Quinn…'

'It's not funny!' She turns away from me. 'Don't do that again!'

I deserved that for toying with her. In the Freljord, punishing love comes naturally. Maybe that's why Sejuani keeps rejecting me, and why I'm throwing myself at Quinn.

It shouldn't be this way… but I haven't unified this country yet… and I am still cruel.

Before I can apologise, Quinn settles down and reclaims the penitent role. 'Sorry, I didn't mean to shout. I wanted to come sooner but His Majesty called me to his chambers. He wanted to know if I had seen anything.'

'Oh…' Would she divulge her liaison with another woman? I've no idea how Jarvan would answer. By all accounts, he's a man of the world. Even if he objected for personal reasons, I'm sure he has more important things on his mind. At best, the information would expose little about the Freljord and much about Quinn. He should not condemn our treaty for a dalliance between staff.

No… Jarvan is allowed his criteria, however strict or frivolous. I should not hold him responsible for excusing my conduct.

Though am I really to blame for loving the wrong person? I never wanted sleepless nights, guilt and madness. Why can't I lie with my husband, like any other woman, and greet the day with renewed vigour? Instead, I trespass on foreign lands after sundown, wolfing their seed, when I should be leading my tribe to supremacy.

Everyone has their unseen cross to bear. I can't ask for exemption. A better person would have been strong… but the damage is done. I have sold my honour, so I will take my due.

Quinn's mouth is agape, as though she is trying to force a great sickness from her core. 'Sian…'

I rest my finger on her lips. 'No.' Her bright eyes are timorous yet hopeful. She wants me, despite her virtue. That overwhelming scent, a harlot's call for trade or an adolescent cry for attention, leads a trail into her sacred woods. If she longs to be chased, I will grant her wish and bare my fangs. 'Don't say a word. Nothing good will come of it. All I want to know is you…' I gently push my finger into her mouth. She sucks on the tip. 'And me.' I guide us both to our feet. 'Come. I want to show you something.'

* * *

The Freljord is never truly dark. Moonlight and snow tell half the story but there is so much more, the glistening hide of a predator, the shining eyes of its prey, frozen lakes refracting starlight through a million cracks.

And there is one special kind of light…

'Every campfire tells a story.' I embrace Quinn as we observe the landscape from our natural shelter. My hand sketches the contours of her temple, cheekbone and jaw. 'I see hope, fear, curiosity, contemplation. I look at the strength and shape of each blaze. Wide and rich, I see a hunting party swapping jokes and telling tales… pale and blue, I see fay spirits dancing under the stars… when I see glowing embers, I think of two people against the world, sharing warmth, trust… and something more.'

Quinn rests in the crook of my shoulder. The tip of her nose draws little circles on my neck as her warm breath tickles my collarbone. 'I can't believe… it's so romantic. I thought…' she hiccups, tears come to her eyes, 'people like me never shared moments like this.'

'Beauty is everywhere, my young butterfly.'

She kisses me on the lips. The gesture is simple and sweet, a marked improvement on before. Should I feel proud? Quinn's first proper girlfriend will appreciate my tutelage, if there is one. 'Thank you so much. I… oh, it's embarrassing… I brought a present of my own but it's nothing compared to this view.' She fishes within her knapsack and produces two bottles. 'I didn't know if you liked red or white so I brought one of each.'

'Oh, Quinn, you shouldn't have!' A courtship gift from a woman, such a minor thing that I've always wanted. I'm thrilled that Quinn is taking the initiative. I could swoon in her arms.

'There were so many different kinds! I had no idea where to start. I could have asked someone but Xin would recite poetry and Lux would make fun of me.'

'It's wonderful. This has made my night!' I give Quinn a peck on the cheek, a promise of more to come, and examine the labels. The white is a Pinot gris, the kind of trusty beverage I would drink every day if I could. However, the red is far more intriguing. It's a Cabernet from House Laurent, expensive and unpopular but something I'm inclined to give a sporting chance. 'Hmm… I prefer white but, for some reason, I fancy the red. The colour matches your hair.'

Quinn giggles and plays with a strand. 'The dye is made from grapes, and a few secret ingredients, but I'm sure the wine tastes better.'

'I wouldn't be so hasty.' My gaze lingers on her thighs. 'You're looking _very_ delicious right now.'

'Ooh, I can't believe that I'd erm…' Quinn is so bashful that she covers her groin as if she'd emerged naked from her bath to an audience. When she twigs that she's needlessly grabbed her crotch in front of me, she turns bright red and mumbles into her cloak. 'Taste that good.'

'You'd be surprised.' I imagine serving Quinn the taste of her own arousal as I uncork the bottle. Eagerly, I savour the wine's bouquet. It's impossible to judge quality without pouring but I haven't had wine for _so_ long. 'Do we have any cups?'

'Yes!' Quinn nearly shouts in relief at the change of subject. 'I borrowed some glasses.'

'You _are_ resourceful. Proper drinking vessels in the Freljord?' I lounge on my fur. 'You are spoiling me!'

Quinn sounds almost debonair while I fill her glass. 'Only the best for my charming host.' Reflections from our campfire dance in the ruby cascade. 'It's not all bad up here. You have some very fancy tankards.'

'We do but…' I was going to jest about preferring curves but I'd rather not make poor Quinn feel inadequate. Her narrow body suits her well. 'They're not for me.' The hue of the wine takes me back to our prior conversation. 'Why _do_ you colour your hair?'

'So Valor knows I'm an ally.'

'He must recognise you by now.'

'It helps him focus. He gets distracted _very_ easily.' Quinn tries to copy my wine tasting. While it is fun, watching her act all grown-up, she'd enjoy it more by minding her own palate, rather than _my_ actions. 'But you're right. It's more of a habit now.' I don't know if she's aware but she keeps glancing at my breasts. I am wearing a very low top. Her attention is worth the cold.

'What's your natural hair colour?'

Her mouth twitches. 'It's erm… red.'

I gasp and nearly choke on my wine. 'Ooh, I love red hair! And with those golden eyes, you must look _stunning_!'

'Really, it's not that…'

'How could you hide something that precious?' I tug at my neckline as I imagine red hair against the backdrop of the Freljord. That's it. I'm redrafting the terms of our alliance. All I want now is "Quinn and a hot bath".

'I don't mean auburn or strawberry-blonde. I mean _red_ , like full-on country-bumpkin peasant-girl _red_.'

Avarosa, I think I squealed. 'How darling!' I pounce on Quinn. With eager hands, I comb through her mane, trying to see her roots. 'Do you have freckles? If you wear make-up, I'm going to be _so_ cross.' Raising her arms in feeble defence, Quinn spills wine down my chest. We roll across the fur, laughing while she tries to push me away.

Quinn doesn't know how to play-fight. Her boot strikes my abdomen, launching me through the air. She pins me down. My belly churns with claret and throbs with pain. I'm slightly winded from the impact. This could be an attempt on my life and there's no one to help. I'm at Quinn's mercy. The rational part of my brain is deploring my selfish madness but all higher thoughts are consumed in a firestorm of lust. Her palms crush the veins in my wrists. My fingertips go numb. The flames lick higher. For all her inexperience, my rangy little girl is _stronger_ than me.

And I _love_ it.

'No fair,' I struggle to breathe as her tough, angular body pressures mine. 'I was only playing.'

'Oh?' Quinn smiles like a rambunctious child who's unaware of my turmoil. 'Does that mean I've won?'

'Maybe...' I wet my lips. Come hither, Quinn. I know you want this. Take your prize.

The moment stretches to breaking point. She isn't moving. Kiss me already! Don't make me beg… or make me beg. That could work.

Wait. Is she crying? Her eyelids crease up. Losing all dignity, she sniffs and honks as her body spasms with grief. 'Quinn?' I scramble upright and hold her close while she bawls into my shoulder. Oh, I was silly to expect a confident lover. It's all so new. 'Hush, babe, we don't have to go any…'

'I want to!' she yells in defiance. 'I want to go all the way but… I don't deserve you. I'm a horrible, twisted person and…' her words collapse into sobbing.

What have the Demacians told this girl? She has blood on her hands, no doubt, but so do I. We have to focus on a peaceful tomorrow, not a savage present. 'You're _not_. I think you're lovely.'

'You don't know me. I…'

'You don't know _me_ , Quinn. I pledged my soul to Avarosa but I was greedy… and the part I kept has grown darker than the void.' If we consummate a web of lies, my damnation will be complete but I can't deny Quinn to soothe my guilt. 'I don't deserve _you_ …' taking her face in both hands, I kiss her forcefully, a wake-up call, 'so we're even. I am more than happy to talk, drink and watch the stars but don't let shame hold you back.'

'Okay.' Her eyes flicker and her head rocks in time with each rapid breath. 'Just answer one question?'

'Yes?'

'Do you want me?'

I skate my hand down her side, feeling every little bump of her ribcage. 'I want you.'

Quinn lets out a ragged sigh of surrender. 'Then take me… please.'

I understand. She doesn't want a choice in the matter. Perhaps good girls don't initiate or she delights in submission. I've been there.

We can't always pick our roles. Even my pursuit of Quinn felt like a chain around my neck, dragging me onwards. Now, I succumb to the yoke of leadership. I am Queen of the Freljord and Quinn is my tribute.

I claim her lips with sensual, rhythmic intensity, a motion that could be only the start of lovemaking. Her kisses are bold and fluent. My little bird learns quickly.

Knowing she must be self-conscious, I offer my body first, placing her hands on either side of my breasts. 'Go on.' She touches me reverently. I do like it rough but, right now, Quinn's gentle discovery is balm for my nerves. Once my nipples grow firm with arousal, Quinn shyly plays with them through the material. Suspecting that she won't take the next step without explicit permission, I pull down my top. She gapes in wonder. It's a thrill to inspire such awe. 'Do you like them?' I ask, teasingly.

'Oh, Sian, they're gorgeous! I…' she covers her mouth, as though ashamed of her outburst.

'You can use more than your hands.' Wetting my lips to illustrate my point, I grab her collar. 'I insist.'

Quinn draws rapid circles with her tongue. I moan happily, voicing my approval as she pushes my breasts upwards and together. Once I feel she has earned her reward and I've earned _mine_ , I kick off my boots and peel off my skirt. I raise one leg and waggle the garment as it hangs from my foot. When the skirt falls, Quinn surprises me by sucking on my toes. Did she misinterpret my signals, or does our innocent little girl have a fetish? I hope it's the latter. The idea is far too precious. I've never had anyone worship my feet before. It feels good. Quinn is teaching me some new tricks.

Eventually, I part my legs to her and bare my throat as the first pulse hits below. The first touch is not with Quinn's hand but her eyes.

Like a nervous animal, she pads closer on all-fours. Her face is next to mine as I guide her arm downwards. My expression is apparently more fascinating than any direct response. I can understand why. If I had Sejuani, I would happily go blind if, just one time, I could watch her stern façade crack beneath orgasm.

I reveal every moment of pleasure while she finds her tempo… _adagio_ , _andante_. Is this good for you, Quinn? Am I performing well?

'Erm… is this okay?' she asks. Not fair, I said it first, maybe not out loud but still…

'Oh, yes…' my mouth twists through different shapes. 'Oh… I needed this.' Even if I am overacting, I don't have to pretend. Quinn's a natural. I barely have to provide any guidance. Even if her polite, languid strokes rarely feature in my erotic daydreams, they work because I can feel Quinn's personality in them. I don't know if she's aware but she's moving her fingers independently rather than using her entire hand as one. It's a minor wrinkle but those unpredictable touches take me out of the moment enough to drive me onwards.

Quinn maintains our connection with pleading kisses until she asks the thrilling question. 'Should I go down?'

'Hmm… that would be nice.' Quinn smiles and goes to work. I feel hesitant pecks before she works up the courage to involve her tongue. She probably grew up thinking intimate places were dirty. Even with uncontrollable desire, there's a little bump in the road.

It was the same with my first time. I was baited into the act by an older girl, whom I didn't even like, charging a "toll" for showing me her breasts and full spread of pubic hair. I think she was trying to bully me and assert her dominance over the chieftain's daughter. It backfired. I was a _very_ eager participant and unsettled her with my enthusiasm. After that, she was scared of me, like I'd eat her alive if given a chance.

Was it abuse on her part? I don't know. It's hard to feel wronged, especially after my studied manipulation of Quinn.

Am I part of a cycle that can't be broken?

Quinn isn't holding back anymore. She's grabbing, sucking and lapping with crazed hunger like she's trying to sand off a knot. I enjoy giving oral. It's a great way to overcome shyness. You cast aside all dignity and look magnificent, a virtuoso, tonguing your lover's reed. I grind into Quinn's face and tug at her hair. It won't be much longer.

I make a lot of noise when I come, so I'm bemused when she doesn't get the message. Quinn drives at my oversensitive clitoris until I shoo her back with a gentle, 'I'm done.' Pulling her into my arms, I compliment her between kisses. 'Do you see? You are handsome… and sexy… and talented… and can make women feel _so_ much better than they could possibly imagine.'

'Thank you.'

'No, Quinn,' I tut, 'you're not supposed to thank me until…' I slide my hand between her legs. The poor thing tries to mask her pleasure by shutting her eyes and mouth. She blasts air from her nostrils like a muzzled foxhound. Her carnal side is awakening. 'Don't be embarrassed. You're allowed to feel good… and look even better.' Quinn shakes her head in protest. 'I know. You won't take my word for it.' Coming for another person is a huge leap. You're disclosing your primal self and hazarding rejection for demons you would never choose. Even I couldn't do it the first time. 'If you let me…' I weaken her defence with eager strokes. 'I promise not to look at your face. Will that help?'

Quinn mumbles. 'I guess it's too cold to put out the fire.' She already knows the answer.

'I wouldn't recommend it,' and I'd never liked having sex in the dark. I'm greedy. I want to know my lover with _all_ my senses.

'Okay.'

'We don't have to...'

'No!' Her eyes flash a dangerous yellow. Quinn arches her back high and claws at my breast. 'We've come this far. Please don't give me a way out.'

Responding to Quinn's touch, I slip one hand down the back of her tight leggings, and one up her front. Oh, how I'd craved her muscles… and reality is even better than my fevered imagination. Everything is toned, chiselled and glazed with sweat. You could break swords against those abs and between those buttocks.

I start lifting her top. She locks her arms to stop me going further. 'Quinn?'

'I… I don't like my breasts. They're…' she can't finish her description. 'Can I leave this on? You can… take off the rest if…' her words trail into silence.

I hate this world for bombarding people with unrealistic paintings and sculptures. Growing up in a wilderness, relatively free of those impossible standards, was a blessing, though my ancestors clearly had their ideal women. You wouldn't think that Avarosa had given birth or lived past thirty if her statues were any clue. I highly doubt that Quinn has any "blemish" worth hiding, maybe a scar or two, but we all have them. After years of battle, my legs and arms could be used as a map. I guess we all have one thing we'd change about ourselves. Maybe she feels that her breasts are too small and wide, or her nipples are too large. I have big areolas and she didn't complain.

It's cruel of me to speculate if she's worried. 'You don't need to ask _my_ permission, Quinn.' I smile to reassure her as best I can. 'If it's okay, I would like to touch them.'

'Could you… do it through my clothes?'

'Anything you say.'

I gently cup her breasts. They're modest and delicate, like soft, snowy islets in a frozen lake. For a moment, Quinn looks as though she might run. However, a slow push of her hips and a long, drawn-out breath signal her relaxation. Hopefully, this is the first step towards Quinn associating her body with pleasure, not shame.

Only one of her nipples reacts to my attention. I guess there might be scarring, after all.

I begin to peel down her leggings. When she tenses up again, I pull her close to distract her with kisses and spread my thighs to accommodate her narrow hips. In the security of our embrace, I carefully undress her lower body with my toes. When the barriers are down, I marvel at how naturally our different shapes fit.

I lay her cheek on mine and whisper in her ear. 'You're beautiful, Quinn, so…' My tongue grazes her skin as my hand reaches past her bottom. I take one finger and draw it slowly up her thigh. ' _So_ beautiful.'

'Ah!' She cries out when I touch her labia. Quinn tries to swallow her response. Tell-tale whimpers rise in frequency and volume until she unclenches her jaw. 'Oh! Oh, Sian… uh!'

After she's become slick, I resolve to be selfish. 'Are you enjoying that?' I suck on her earlobe. She whines helplessly, too embarrassed to say "yes". 'I'd like to use my mouth on you. Does that sound good?' She nods violently and squeaks an affirmation. I pat her hip. 'If you get on top, you can make all the faces you like, and you'd make me _very_ happy.'

She hesitates. I almost whoop for joy when she gets up and straddles me. Her vulva is pale, bare, and absolutely gorgeous. I wonder if it's Demacian custom to shave. More than likely, she's just veiling her natural colour. There are some nicks that look fresh from this evening.

Ooh, Quinn, you naughty girl, preparing for sex in advance. I picture the scene, her legs open wide before the mirror, hand shaking with excitement as she lowers the razorblade, impure thoughts rampaging through her mind. She probably had to stop and masturbate halfway through… then overdose on perfume to mask the smell.

Quinn stammers and bites her thumb. 'Will you be all right?' She's left-handed. Those must be the fingers that she used… in her mouth…

Avarosa, strike me blind.

I'm actually drooling. 'The less you worry about my comfort, the more I'll enjoy this.' A polite way of saying that I want her to crush my skull with her muscular thighs and asphyxiate me with her womanly scent. I lunge forwards and devour her with gusto. She tastes incredible. To my delight, she loses control just as rapidly and squeezes my temples with such force that my ears pop. I just about get enough air through my nose to stay awake. My hands are all over her body. I would kill to have eight arms so I could grab all of her at once. Instead, I can only paw frantically with one hand while pleasing myself with the other. Not that I didn't enjoy Quinn's prior efforts but this is what I _really_ wanted.

I don't know how long we take. Sensual overload removes all perception of time. A new sound from Quinn, a rapid crescendo of high-pitched yelps, announces her peak. While she pants and quivers, I brutally power towards my own orgasm with slow, powerful strokes, like I'm trying to dig something out of my body.

There it is. I cease all movement and let ecstasy take over. Muscles clench and throb without interference. No control, my toes curl, my fingers twitch. I am a lifeless doll.

Quinn shuffles back. Her blank eyes are startling white, glistening pearls within blood-red skin. She topples over then strains to kiss me. There is an awkward pause when she sees how drenched I am with her arousal.

She kisses me anyway. Thank you, Quinn.

After a while, she tries to speak. 'Hmm… th… ah… uh… hmm.'

We both doze for a while. Stray gusts of air snake through the trees and scatter ashes from the fire. Specks fall across my skin and hair, so any sleep I get remains light. Once I'm refreshed, I make sure that Quinn has most of the fur. Now that our blaze is weakening, she'll feel the cold more. As I tuck the blanket around her shoulders, I watch her breathe. She looks so attractively normal. Our world forces everyone to perform on a deadly stage, turns everyday kindness into vile heroism, and persuades us that our wretched state is ordained, rather than a perversion of our gentle nature.

I want to create a world where we can all just _be_.

Drawn by her loveliness, I hold Quinn's cheek. She's so hot, all that young energy burning bright. Her eyelids flutter. I hope my touch isn't cold. She yawns and stretches. 'Did I fall asleep?'

I smile, knowing that proud, vigilant Quinn is going to be mortified. 'We both did.'

'Ugh…' she looks at the sky to gauge the time. I'd be very impressed if she could read the stars in a foreign part of the world. 'After I told you off?'

'Yep.' I kiss her on the forehead.

Quinn scowls. I picture her as a babe, throwing a tantrum when put to bed. Maybe I'll adopt her. I could paint her room indigo then carve little wooden birds to hang from the ceiling. 'Outside without cover. Something could have eaten us.'

I massage her belly. 'It would appear that _I'm_ the only monster on the hunt for young prey.'

Quinn sounds dejected. 'You're not a monster.'

'It was a joke.'

'Your feelings aren't a joke. I know what it's like to need someone. Even if you're older, we're _both_ vulnerable. I should be looking after you too. I should have stayed awake.'

Her sense of duty is commendable. However, Quinn is too young to see the imbalance. 'It can't be helped.' I slip my arm under her neck and pull her close to me, reasserting our roles. 'This place, it… does things. I chose it for a reason.'

'Is it magical?'

'Perhaps… I don't know. As a child, I couldn't sleep. Every word that my tribe said repeated over and over in my head. Most of it had no meaning or relevance to me. Just knowing that people were there…' I cut off the description. My paranoia bore no wisdom. The real threats came later. 'I had to find a place where I could rest. One day, I fled into the mountains and lost my way. Night fell. I passed out from exhaustion and woke up here… soil like velvet, close trees that provided shelter from the wind, rain and snow. I could feel the landscape watching over me. That was the beginning, I think, of knowing that safety was more than strong walls and military strength. There had to be something more, something deeper.' I can't go on. "Queen Ashe" is renowned for her shamanistic vision. If I describe it as a _personal_ revelation, my true identity would be exposed.

Quinn is awestruck. 'And you brought _me_ here… to your sanctuary?'

' _Our_ sanctuary.'

I soon regret my answer. Quinn fidgets, like she'd accidentally broken a holy artefact or unique heirloom. I'm drowning her with intimacy. My gifts are weighing her down. She needs to feel that she's earned my blessings and I'm not giving her a chance. Instead, I'm saddling her with debt.

It's easy to overlook the pace of our affair. I was numb with stress when it began. Quinn had no such protection. Trembling, she lifts her head. 'I…' something jolts her entire body. Her muscles flex and her brow hardens. I recall telling her my alias. Her feral aspect emerged to lock its jaws around the information. 'I need to ask you something.'

A chill passes through my bones. 'Anything.'

'Promise you won't laugh.'

'I promise.'

Quinn blurts out. 'Am I still a virgin?'

With her sudden focus, I expected something weightier. I assume her question is merely a feint or an opening. The appearance of chastity might be essential if Quinn sought power through marriage but, as Jarvan's retainer, she's guaranteed a knighthood if she doesn't cross him. 'I would say "no". You've been sexually involved with another person… willingly.'

'That makes a difference?'

'I believe it does. When you share your innermost desire, that's a _huge_ step. Without it, you're missing a vital part of the experience. The same applies if you erm...' I don't want to pick the wrong term and fuel Quinn's anxiety, 'use someone as an object. You're avoiding the responsibility, and the joy, of knowing someone's heart.'

'What about my… er...' she mutters, 'hymen?'

I roll my eyes. 'Your hymen is a cultural and political resource. During sex, it has no greater role than any part of your body. A stiff jaw is a bigger obstacle than a taut hymen.'

She doesn't sound convinced. 'Right…'

Was I too dismissive? Her fears are genuine. Phallocentric nonsense is rampant amongst the rich and powerful. Even if Quinn has enough status to ignore most of them, she clearly doesn't appreciate that, and I doubt she's at a stage to fully trust her own judgement. 'With your backflips and cartwheels, you might have stretched yours already.'

'I was told that it would _hurt_.'

'Maybe...' I suffered when Tryndamere and I consummated our marriage. We both did. It's not like he wanted his ego broken upon a dry partner. Strangely, I think I preferred my role to his. I had arguments ready to force his compliance but they were trifling. In all honesty, I felt obliged to earn my glorious coronation through sacrifice.

Despite my prayers, I didn't conceive on the first try. No doubt, my hypothetical child praises the wisdom of nature. I'd make a terrible mother right now.

Quinn pulls her knees to her chest. 'I don't want anyone else to hurt me.' Her knuckles are pale with anger. 'It's not fair.'

I want to comfort her but she radiates an aura like the spines of an echidna. 'Well, it might not hurt and you don't have to worry about it now… or ever. There's no obligation.' It's wrong to admire her form while she's worried but her coiled legs are hypnotic. I trace a line down her calf. She doesn't object. 'When you're ready…'

'No, you've got it wrong,' snaps Quinn. 'I _am_ ready. I want _you_ to hurt me.'

Darkness falls. Our last embers fade. I had foreseen Quinn's emotional fallout. Gold that glitters in the blaze of passion can look foolish and crude in the sharp distance of tomorrow. Even so, her anguish feels dangerous. I work hard to keep my voice light. 'Quinn, I'm flattered but, one day, you'll find someone to be yours forever. Surely they deserve…'

'No!' Quinn is nearly shouting. 'You brought me to your safe place! Now it's tainted! You're going to come here and remember _me_!'

'That's a good thing!'

'It is now but… anything could happen.'

A cold, sick dread rises in my gut. Fearful words trip through my teeth. 'You… want me… to punish you? What… have you done?'

Quinn lies on her back. 'Nothing…' she whispers, 'yet.' Her expression is death, eyes wide, mouth open. 'You should… kill me.'

She knows.

After that, I knew what was coming. Even if I couldn't see or feel it, I _knew_. My whole being aches with despair and regret. 'No…'

'You can't,' she says wearily. There is no disappointment. There was no hope. 'That's why…' she swallows her confession, 'but I know you can hurt me… please.'

I could lecture her again about false notions of purity, that honour bears no relation to the space between her thighs, but she's Demacian. She's conditioned thoroughly to crave absolution through certain rituals. I may disagree with them but I can't reason away feeling.

And I was no different.

When I finally rest my hand upon her, she looks so grateful that I cry. 'Don't suffer in silence. If it feels wrong, then _tell_ me.'

'Yes.'

I'm barely inside when she moans. Her walls clench so hard that even the very tip of my finger is rejected. 'Quinn, your body's telling you something. You don't…'

'Lies! It's lying! Make it suffer!' Quinn grabs my arm and twists. 'Keep… going.'

I push farther. She's wet but the tightness is excruciating and my nails are long. I'd grown them out for the visit. I'd only wanted to look pretty. 'This isn't normal, Quinn.'

'Good!' She's clawing chunks out of the ground. 'I'm a freak. Do it!'

'You're not a…'

'I am a _freak_!' She spits the word with such ferocity that she foams at the mouth. 'Keep going! Please, please, please, please keep going!' This is more than twisted salvation. Quinn is directly aroused by the pain I inflict. My power… excites me. Avarosa, cleanse my soul! I don't want to be this way!

Every millimetre hurts. Quinn is thrashing and growling through her teeth like a wounded animal. Suddenly, her head flies back and her jaw hangs loose. Her breathing is rapid and shallow. 'Oh… oh… that's… that's it… that's it.'

I'm relieved. Wary of causing any damage below, I remain still. 'Are you all right?' I stroke her face tenderly.

'Yes… I…' she looks at me through heavy-lidded eyes. A trail of saliva runs from her mouth and down her cheek. 'I really want to feel you move but… I don't think I can take it.'

Neither could I. Entwining our fingers, I withdraw as slowly as possible. Quinn bled a lot, even without any thrusting. I pray that it's the start of her period.

The smell of copper rushes through my brain. I hear the sound of war drums, a tolling bell, snarling hounds. For one hellish moment, I crave the taste of Quinn's blood. My stomach heaves and I nearly vomit in self-disgust.

Once it's over, Quinn showers me with tears and kisses. 'Thank you,' she says, over and over. 'Thank you.' Those are her final words to me.

I gather the remains of our camp and hold Quinn tight as we enter the palace. I no longer care who sees me.


	5. Chapter 5

The day of judgement is upon us.

Joyful speculation echoes through the palace, bringing warmth to every cold passage and dark recess. My throne room is awash in cheerful sound. Anivia and Tryndamere chat merrily, bonding over details. Even if they have different personalities, they both enjoy making elaborate plans, racing each other to the smallest variable. Anivia is one of nature's pedants while Tryndamere lived on fresh air, debating how far the wind might carry his scent, or whether his boots would survive a difficult road. I'm glad they're becoming friends. It gives me hope, enough that I can stay upright in silence rather than collapse on the floor.

My royal costume provides no support. When I first welcomed Jarvan's group, the spine of my corset was like a butcher's hook, suspending me for perusal. Now I barely feel my clothes. I may have lost a pound or two but nothing so drastic. My nerves are giving up.

Tryndamere is barking at me, like a puppy begging for attention. 'Ashe…? Oi! Ashe!' He clicks his fat fingers before my nose. 'Are you there?'

Forget jumping, I don't have the energy to _blink_. My head rotates like I'm directing a puppet from within. I swear that my joints creak. Does my throat require lubrication? A glass of wine… thick, ruby drops of Demacian juice? The memory of that sickening urge will haunt me forever. 'I'm... here.'

'You're very quiet.'

'I do apologise. Would you like more evidence of my perversion for your terrible jokes?'

'Always!' Tryndamere grins, a wide, arrogant display of teeth. Apparently, some women find that attractive. He's nowhere near as charming as he thinks. 'Ha hah… erm… in all seriousness, you look ill. Do you need anything?'

'More flattery would be nice.'

He shakes his head. 'I can't win with you.' If he abstained from treating every conversation like a game, that would help. 'You're the most stubborn person I've met, apart from…'

'If you say her name… or call her my "girlfriend"… I will _kill_ you.' That's not hyperbole. My wavering sanity would crumble. After all these years, building a country where no one should live in fear, I must behave like a tyrant or become a fiend.

'Ashe…' Tryndamere leans in, resting an elbow on each knee. He's making his body look smaller, and closing the space, to invite confidence. It never fails to amaze and irritate, seeing the manipulative body language, absorbed from his martial training. He performs, by instinct, every trick I had to learn. 'It's been a long week. You're tired. I'm tired. We're _all_ tired. Right now, I could name a hundred things I screwed up, chances I missed, clever comebacks to that blonde bitch with the gerbil in her snatch.' I should complain but Lux _was_ a nightmare. Tryndamere gets a pass for that one. 'But it's over. All I'd be doing is working my bone.'

'Ugh, you can save that for your chamber.'

He slaps his thigh. 'That's more like it!' Don't get cocky, Tryndamere. I'm not thawed yet, and if I did recover my spark, it wouldn't be _your_ doing. 'Whatever's eating you, just let it go.'

His advice is perfectly rational and utterly worthless. Ignore the ground rushing up since I've already plunged to my death, how deliciously male. Tryndamere is able to cope as everything is an anti-climax after watching his people die. He mistakes avoidable trauma for attainable wisdom. I hope there's another way to inner-peace. 'If only it were that simple.' I turn the conversation away from me. 'You've exceeded my efforts. Diplomacy might be your new calling.'

He grunts and looks appalled at the suggestion, like he'd carry off a ball gown. I suppose he'd look more at ease than Sejuani. My shoulders are at the upper limit of viability, and hers are much broader than mine. Darling Tryndamere has enough general bulk to go for the "mother bear" look. 'Huh, too dangerous, I'm more likely to die of boredom than battle, and it's easy to work the Demacians on our home ground. If we visited Ionia, I'd "upset the balance" and get us all killed.'

Anivia pipes up. 'Really, Tryndamere, how could you scorn rare praise from your cold mistress?' Once again, she is playing marriage counsellor, trying to shape us into loving parents of the modern Freljord. I get the worst of it, having the responsibility of an adult brain. Supposedly, Tryndamere doesn't know any better while I should have the maturity and nous to rise above my petulance. 'You should at least thank her before insisting on your modesty.'

'Ashe don't need to hear that from me.'

'That is no cause to be ignorant! Let _Ashe_ decide her needs. A good husband should obey, not presume.' There's no way I'm getting involved. Anivia's romantic ideal of human behaviour has calcified over generations, and I know better than to challenge it. Her painful shriek lowers to a deep whistle that could be a sigh of exasperation. I'm still not fluent in her unique sounds and body language. 'If you insist on denying your talent, a proven warrior and statesman could easily defend our lands and maintain our treaties while Ashe and I court Ionia.'

Tryndamere gives her a sideways look. 'What are you planning, Vivi?'

'Nothing… yet.' Anivia spreads her plumage. The unwelcome blast of cold restores my feeling. 'So many possibilities, I've enjoyed this week!'

Anivia's timing is perfect. I am able to rise before the Demacians file into the courtroom. Asking Tryndamere for help would have been shameful. Alone, I take the centre, leaving my friends behind. I would prefer to stand with them but I fear my expression will betray me.

The Demacians are unreadable. Even Lux is cold and severe. Her colourful, cracked persona distorts her monstrous intellect. Seen clearly, her divergent aspects form one hydra of military and ambassadorial experience, now marshalled against us.

Quinn is the only gap in their armour, cowering at Jarvan's left hand. With her feathered cape around her ears, the bird of prey resembles a doomed chicken trying, in vain, to hide its neck. Amber eyes draw patterns in the ground. She would sooner keep a low profile but, ominously, Jarvan has dragged her up front. He gives nothing away. Despite my efforts to find common ground, we had never truly bonded. His ratty hair and comic asides were smoke before steel.

When Jarvan speaks, it is mercifully plain. 'With regret, I must decline your terms.' I feel every echo of my country's disappointment, a tolling of hopeful hearts pounded with a sledge hammer, everyone's hard work dashed by means beyond their knowledge.

A force, even more pitiless than gravity, keeps my body upright, my breathing stable. It locks away my shattered mind where it can do no harm, leaving a husk, a model queen performing as it should. No reckless will diverts my limbs, my eyes or my voice. I think I say something. I don't know.

Jarvan answers. 'You have good intentions. Your economy and infrastructure are poor but should improve. I'm advised that your long-term plans are "careful and congruent".' Was that Lux? The phrase recalls her academic twang. After all her aggression, that's a small victory for us. I need to take what I can get. Lux herself betrays nothing. 'I will confess that I expected more posturing. You have… _knowledge_ beyond your years.' Not "wisdom". The implication isn't lost on me. I'm vaguely bothered as he's not yet thirty. My character is fair game but he hasn't earned enough grey to judge my youth. 'Conversely, your enemies are a threat but their aggression is not sustainable. If you weather their onslaught and maintain your course, your growth will put theirs to shame.'

He underestimates both Lissandra's evil and Sejuani's endurance but neither is building a civilisation. I am glad an outsider recognises the merit of my long-term approach. 'Our forces will be pleased to hear that. Your judgement carries weight.'

'Thank you but your patience will serve better than military zeal. I advise that you keep my confidence to yourself.'

A polite way of saying that he doesn't want his name dragged into my war. 'Discretion is my watchword.'

Jarvan glares. I half-expect him to silence my hypocrisy by lancing my throat. 'You should exercise _more_. There is chaos here in the Freljord, hidden… currents that may disrupt the best laid plans of our greatest minds.' He glances towards Lux, whose mask falters. Anger and frustration make her jaw twitch and nostrils flare. Realisation hits me. Lux _wanted_ this alliance and had likely spent every waking hour plotting her glorious campaign on my behalf. The Freljord was to be her proving, and I stole her chance to shine. 'Until such things are under control, I must withhold my support. If that seems harsh or petty, know this. Demacia commits _fully_. If I swear to die by your side, I will not have shifting sands make me a fool or a knave! Am I clear?'

As clear as virgin glass, unlike the queen of the Freljord who breaks her life into pieces and changes colour like a lizard. Quinn is playing with her hands. I'm not sure if I could bear her attention.

This time, instead of using empty diplomacy, I think about my answer. The room is silent for a long time but almost peaceful. My conscious act of engagement is not lost on Jarvan. I sense that he approves. Finally, I speak. 'Yes, I am honoured by your wisdom and integrity. Whatever doubts you have, I pray that you think well of the Avarosan. If I did not convey their faith, honesty and temperance, I am _wholly_ to blame.'

He softens the deep knit of his brow and the grip on his lance. Though my shame is enduring, my acknowledgement was true. 'That is a fine request. I thank you for your hospitality and wish you luck in your endeavours.'

'May the chill wind be always at your back.'

The Demacians begin to leave. It is done. I must retire for a spell and reflect on my sins. The others will have questions but I can't face them now. Just as I dare to breathe, a familiar voice pulls me back to earth. Once again, my body is at the tender mercies of lonely, desperate Ashe.

'Your Majesty?'

Quinn stands alone, her arms raised and curled like those of a beaten dog, a visible tremor blurring her nails. Having spoken out of turn, I don't know if she dreads punishment from her side or mine. 'I… I'm Quinn. I spied on your affairs and… I didn't want to say anything, but…' she keeps turning her head, as though expecting a knife in the back. 'I had to… for Demacia…'

I recover my wits before she provokes Jarvan or my allies. 'You gain nothing by telling me this. Take your victory and leave before you jeopardise yourself.'

Quinn scurries near as if pushed by an invisible hand. 'You were so good to me and I… I…' the rising force of her rapid breathing tears her repentance in two. She pants like a sacrificial lamb. In twisted empathy, I can feel her tortured lungs burn and convulse.

The Demacians exchange loaded glances but will not intervene before Jarvan, who simply watches without expression. He planned for this. I would have done so in his place.

Quinn totters but, with a loud sniff, she pounds her chest and finds the will to prolong her speech. 'I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry… There was no way out! I ran in circles and every path led me to betrayal!' She unfurls her limp, tired arms and lifts her quavering chin, a mockery of Demacian pride. 'I only hope that if we meet in battle, your arrow finds my heart.'

I lose it.

These hands, archer's hands, can't even make a tight fist, yet I punch Quinn so hard that she takes flight. Small, strong Quinn, whose powerful body should absorb all of my pathetic abuse… but I _can_ hurt her… I can hurt her _so_ much.

I bet Sejuani would love this. You'd be proud of me, your mighty goddess raining thunderbolts upon the weak.

Well, fuck you, Sejuani, and fuck me even harder for fucking up this poor little girl.

I hear the rattle of Demacian weapons, feel the glow of Lux's magic and the heat of Shyvana's flame. Is this the end? Will my legacy be war over a stupid affair? The skalds would make hay for years.

Nothing happens. Beyond Quinn, I see Jarvan holding back the tides of war. His palm stills the draconic rage of Shyvana, while his lance bars Garen and Xin Zhao from cleaving my ribs and skewering my gut. Only one person remains free to land the first blow, and reclaim her starring role in history, but Lux withholds her vengeance. The wand of luminosity bears a protective halo, not shining death.

Jarvan is not a prince taking charge. He is a proud slave bullied into submission. There is no satisfaction in what he does. Ancient morals compel him. As the Exemplar of Demacia, he believes in the supremacy of justice. Here, there is but one choice, appear weak, let my insult go unpunished.

I bathe in lies and filth but all my shame could not veil the scar of Quinn's treachery. This dirty scoundrel is owed restitution.

Quinn dabs the cut on her lip. I offer my hand. When she gingerly accepts, I drag her upright and lock my arm around her neck, my chest against hers, the wings of a hummingbird. She does not miss a thought as I mouth whispered words upon her cheek.

'I am sick and tired of my lovers asking me to kill them. When we meet again, it will be painful and awkward. There will be tears and apologies but I will _never_ want you dead… for as long as you live, there will always be a little piece of my heart outside my body.'

Quinn drives her claw into my trapezius. We can't risk an embrace. Our mutual pain is the deepest kiss. 'I… I knew from the start. Your hair and your clothes were different but… your eyes… I could never mistake them. When I looked up at your balcony, it was like seeing colours after a lifetime in darkness. They were as blue as an empty sky… and lonely as a naked sun. All I wanted was to fly into your depths.'

'Oh, Quinn.' Please don't love me. You deserve a normal life and a pretty, sensible girl, not like me and Sejuani. Leave us to our miserable, tangled waltz.

'Everything was real. I didn't mean to entrap you but I couldn't help myself. I wanted you so badly. Everything was _real_!'

'Hush, Quinn.' I release the chokehold and push my thumbs into each temple, forcing her to look at me. 'I backed you into a corner. Duty and desire tore you apart, and the only way out was through me.' No matter where my path leads, those amber eyes will follow. 'You did nothing wrong.'

'But…'

'No buts… if you love me… then love my weakness.' I wrap a lock of Quinn's hair around my finger then pull, breaking the strands. They will have a place in my box of memories, a wicked trophy. When I have atoned, I will suck away the dye, revealing her true colours. 'And love yourself because you're the biggest weakness of them all.'

Quinn stands at full height, bearing her cross without shame. For one glorious moment, she views me as an equal. Her courage is promptly exhausted but it's a new, valiant beginning. 'I'll try,' she says. 'Goodbye, Your Majesty.'

'No, my dear lynx, to you, I'm just "Ashe", now and forever.' I'm struck by an overwhelming need. Say my real name, Quinn… just once.

Her lips draw back from her teeth, an embryonic smile that, one day, will move mountains with broad, rakish charm. 'And you will always be Queen of my heart… Ashe.'

Quinn turns and the Demacians reel. Their shy, innocent girl had fallen before them and emerged from her twisted ovule, a grown, blooded woman.

* * *

I owed my court an explanation but I needed solitude. After punishing loyal subjects with abnegation, I'm obliged to pamper myself before I endanger them. Three days, I cower in my bedroom, ignoring food, guzzling wine and sketching out awful prose. My back hurts from inactivity.

There is a loud knock, several times a day, but I don't answer. The visitor has too much discretion to linger, or not enough patience. I don't care which.

Am I neglecting my role? The Avarosan could prosper without my destructive guidance. They should be allied with Jarvan, rid of Sejuani. Lissandra's corrupted remnants would fall to pure numbers. I see my people rejoice at their victory, finally complete, not forgone by the romantic whims of an overgrown child pretending to be Queen.

Hopefully, they'll march a revolution through the door and kill me. Divine intervention won't spare my life again.

Avarosa… did you love the wrong person? Of course you did. You loved me.

I'm under my pillow, savouring the dark, when a splintering crash heralds unwelcome light. Alarm bells do not sound. It is not death, only Tryndamere. With a loud grunt, he uses a wardrobe to block any more visitors then carries a chair to my side. Frankly, I would have preferred that he sat on the bed. He shows me too much respect… or distrust.

I have the energy to speak, barely. 'You want an explanation.'

'I know you'll give me one, eventually… an explanation, that is, not eh… heh heh.' Tryndamere's granting me cause to loathe him, rather than myself. It's a kind offer but I don't have the will to bite. 'Nah, just making sure you're not dead. Can smell it normally but can't be too careful.'

'I'm not dead.'

'Yeah, I guessed from all the breathing and talking.' He winks. 'Plenty others want to give a second opinion, if you'd like.'

'I can imagine.' All those people making a fuss, tying each other in knots, dancing around the forbidden subject of their queen's bodily functions. The pious may diagnose me with chronic perversion and put me on a diet of parsnips. I'd sooner bear Tryndamere's "wit". 'How is everyone?'

He shrugs. 'All right. Weather's cold. Hunting's bad. Sej and Liss are off licking their wounds. Might as well be a golden age by our standards. I'm bored out of my skull.'

'No Demacians to play with.' I nestle deeper. 'Sorry.'

Tryndamere waves off my apology. 'Ah, it's not a big deal. We haven't lost anything but our time and hospitality. No one's dead.'

'If the war drags on, more lives…'

'The future's not here. Sej could wake up on the right side of the bed and stop fighting. Our little game with Jarvan would be irrelevant.'

He is torturing me with hope. 'Yes, and the Freljord might grow sails and bear us to a land of milk and honey.'

'Fine, bad example, but she _could_ fall sick and plunge her tribe into civil war. My point is that we don't know what problems will come, so we tackle the problems we have.' Ugh, this is why _I_ govern our realm. One of these days, I'll lash Tryndamere to a desk and lecture him on forward planning. 'Right now, we're more concerned about _you_. Vivian's been flapping like there's a torch up her arse. The blizzards are a nightmare.'

That sounds like Anivia. For a busybody, she never did appreciate her environmental impact. I'm the only person who tells her off. 'Make her do it outside.'

'I can't. If I throw my weight around then…' Tryndamere sighs. 'Look, it was me who insisted on your privacy. There are rumours that I'm keeping you out of the picture so I can do things my way. I've had to keep a low profile.'

I'm disappointed in my court. 'They should know you better.' He's never been interested in politics. I wouldn't have married him, otherwise.

'No one cares enough to know me… and that's fine.' He still carries his old, nomadic life, an island above raging tides. Could he fear the pain of losing another tribe? 'Sooner have my place than yours.'

I hope that's a preference and not a reaction. 'What are they saying about me?'

'Does it matter?' He sounds frustrated, weary of idle speculation. 'You know what happened. It won't do _you_ any good to know how wrong people are.'

These things are important. If I knew hidden presumptions, I could navigate choppy waters. 'Public opinion is…'

'Like mist before the dawn. It'll be gone once you open your mouth.'

If only it were that simple. Yes, my divine right can end arguments but we shouldn't overestimate... and Tryndamere has opinions of his own. He's dropped enough hints. I think it's high time he made them plain. 'What do _you_ think?'

'I'm not playing, Ashe. You can tell me straight or not at all. You don't get to hear me out and say that I'm wrong.'

I throw aside my pillow and track the ceiling in moody silence. 'You're not wrong. Say it.'

'You're into women, and you fucked the little bird girl.'

It's not like I imagined. No weight leaves my chest. I feel cold and pathetic. Life doesn't start again. Your past remains, all your old mistakes, regrets and obligations. 'I couldn't sleep at night, so I went to the archery range, where I met Quinn. I thought she didn't recognise me so I pretended to be someone else and… seduced her… though she might have seduced me. I don't know.'

Tryndamere nods, like I'd given the right answer in a classroom. 'That was very stupid.'

My strength rushes back to power my raised voice. 'I didn't do it to be clever! I did it because…'

'I know. You did it for the same stupid reason as everyone else. Like there's a man alive who's not made a fool by some pretty girl…' he stops and looks at me. The wheels turn. 'Or boy, I guess. The point is, you have a normal weakness, and you deal with it like a grown-up, not sit on a frozen rock and hope it'll go away.'

This is unbearable. How can this lump reduce the pain of loneliness to a common rash? It might be that simple for _him_ but he doesn't have to scramble in the dark, sniffing out a depressingly small portion of humanity. 'So the wise Tryndamere has a cure for love, a need that has plagued every generation from the dawn of time. I already know how to masturbate so keep your hands where I can see them.'

'You're getting a concubine.'

I sit upright with enough speed that my side threatens to cramp. 'What?'

He gestures to my surroundings. 'You are Queen. It's not like you're short of…'

My head feels woozy. I strike my palms into the mattress before I topple. 'You're missing the point.' I slow my breathing until the dizziness fades. 'Yes, I have the means but I can't… _leverage_ some poor woman to…'

'Warm your bed and live in a palace?' Tryndamere laughs. 'Compared to sowing seeds, mending clothes and birthing labourers in a frozen shack, it's a dream come true.'

'Who dreams of becoming a _whore_?' I'd like to think my people have some pride. If Sejuani heard our talk, she'd give me the wrong kind of tongue lashing then redouble her crusade.

'Not a "whore",' Tryndamere frowns like I've been rude, 'a _companion_ to the greatest leader the Freljord has ever known.'

I blow out my cheeks. 'Oh, please. I'm not even the greatest leader in this room.'

'Why? Because you slept with the wrong person?' Tryndamere spreads his thighs even wider, as if he didn't command enough space. 'If you knew even half of my exploits…'

'I'll take your word for it.' I fish around in my drawer for a brush and start putting my hair in order. It's so greasy. After all that wine, I must look and smell worse than a cheap harlot. 'I know you mean well but, even if I…' considering the possibility makes me nauseous, 'hired a concubine, I need more than just…'

'…an affair with a plain runt of a Demacian who crossed your path, yes, but it didn't stop you.'

I glare at him. 'Don't call her plain. If you can't see Quinn's beauty then that's your loss.'

For once in his life, Tryndamere looks ashamed of his words. 'No doubt.' He looks at me with new respect. 'You've got a big heart under all that ice. Few people stand by their mistakes and even fewer stand by their loins. I think that's why I follow you and not Sej. A cow like that would stomp out her "weakness", make others pay for her shortcomings.'

'I don't think she's one to shift blame.'

'Neither do I, but she's got it backwards. Her failing is mercy and bloodshed is her way of making up.' He shakes his head. 'Either way, the bitch isn't the one bearing the consequences, while you have the courage to fall. That's the strength of a barbarian!'

It doesn't fit my self-image but that is high praise from Tryndamere. 'Thank you, I guess, but I lack certain… qualities,' no beard or bellow for a start, 'and there are limits to my courage, shadows I can't face.' The wolf lurks in my breast. I assumed the right thing would always come naturally, but no… I am a carnivore, and I will feed if I do not constrain or destroy my appetite. Acceptance is unthinkable. I should love and cherish women but, instead, I consume little red-haired girls.

'No one should gaze into the void,' says Tryndamere. 'You just have to fight it. Whether you strike to kill or swing your sword, the effect is the same. You know, I can't use my rage without fooling. My clan died only once… but you ask my body and they died a thousand times. Do you follow?'

'So performing love can have the same effect as the real thing? I don't agree.'

'No, I'm saying you _will_ perform it, even if you're alone. Imagine gasping for breath underwater. That's what happened with Quinn. If you need air that badly, and it's not forthcoming, you'll seek it in all the wrong places. Better you have something in the right place.' Tryndamere bows under the weight of his quietly spoken words. 'I know what it's like. This… _anger_ never cools, and if I don't give it a purpose, it finds one. I'm not creative. All I can do is recall my darkest hour… and every massacre in my brain is like spitting on deaths that really happened.'

As a child, I was self-absorbed to a fault. Even now, I'm dwelling on my flaws rather Tryndamere's pain. 'I'm sorry. My teenage angst is…'

'A welcome distraction.' Tryndamere says brightly. 'We'll go for a walk. It'll be fun. You can find someone you like and I'll find someone you can trust. Right now, you're feeling burnt so there's no pressure… but you have to do something or history will repeat itself.'

I picture us roaming the countryside, openly scouting women. 'You're not the slightest bit worried that you'll appear weak or impotent?'

'Nah, everybody knows you're in charge. This'll reinforce your legend. Ashe… a queen of such wild hunger that even _I_ could not satisfy her!' So it's _good_ that I am a pervert and he is inadequate? I don't understand him. Everything is a joke and he's behaving like an audience rather than a punchline. I think that wandering the blank wastes of the Freljord has overly heightened his enjoyment of absurdity and sense of detachment. 'Your people don't need a saint, they need a _goddess_.'

That word again! 'I'm not a goddess!'

'Hah! Obviously! You drink, sulk and fuck with the best of us mortals... though I bet _Quinn_ was giving praise at your feet. Am I right?'

'Leave her alone, you brute!' I nearly smirk with pride at my "conquest". Ugh, the last thing I need is to be one of the boys, mocking women who are forthright and generous enough to sleep with me, but I'm so relieved by Tryndamere's indifference that I'll catch any line thrown my way. I never thought my desire could be a simple cause for levity. For once, I feel _normal_. 'You've known about my… tastes for a while, haven't you?'

'I had my suspicions. There are mutterings that you fooled around with girls before you took charge but you hear that talk everywhere, comes with being noble.'

I wonder if Sejuani gets that from her tribe. Our forces like to make rude comments about her relationship with Bristle. I've seen the graffiti. Some of it is… disturbingly vivid. 'If you don't put any stock in rumour then what gave me away?'

'Sejuani.'

My breath catches. Anything but that! My obsession is a far greater crime than stray glances. I must choose my words carefully, not give myself away through denial. 'She is _very_ attractive, despite her ugly thoughts, but she is one handsome woman of many. Why Sejuani?'

Tryndamere shuffles, like he's gearing up for a long explanation. 'When you captured her, she tried to kill herself by not eating.' He dismisses her bravado with a sweep of his hand. 'Tribal nonsense, I've done it myself, but I got this feeling that… I had no proof, but I got this feeling that she was trying to impress you.'

'That kind of blackmail _really_ doesn't impress me.'

'I figured. After your display, Quinn won't forget anytime soon. By the way, that was a very good straight punch. First time you've kept your elbows in.' He taps on his skull. 'Back to Sej, I was curious enough to pry further into what makes her tick.' He raises both palms in supplication. 'I, er… look, I'm not proud of this but I tried to open her up by talking you down.'

I'm relieved by Tryndamere's confession. It's not like I've been charitable. 'I'm Queen. Everyone gossips about me.'

'Well, _I_ shouldn't. In my head, you were just an ambitious dreamer. I didn't fully get that you were a person with… feelings.' That's a hard word for Tryndamere to pronounce. 'I'm sorry.'

Was I that distant? So long, I was tunnelled into my goals. You can seem very cold in the depths of ardour, free of doubt, sympathy and weakness. 'Apology accepted. Thank you.'

Tryndamere nods with gratitude. 'Sej was… weird, far too preoccupied with the "lie" of our marriage, and she wanted to crush the Avarosan to preserve your honour.'

Oh, Sejuani, it's wonderful, romantic and deeply frustrating, how you strive to be my champion. Why must you channel such a noble urge in such a horrid way? 'The Winter's Claw have been around for generations. Our feud is not personal.'

'She has other goals, yeah, but _you're_ one of them… and the way she puffs out her chest and marks her territory like a man with tits, I began to wonder if she _liked_ you.'

'Am _I_ a man with tits?'

'I'm just saying how it went down. You're a fighter, Ashe. You make snap judgements or you take a knife in the back.' We're not discussing a fight. His metaphor doesn't stretch but he's right about one thing. I'm guilty of the same. The full sermon can wait until my flaws aren't under the magnifying lens. 'Now, my hunch could have been wrong, and four eyes are better than two, right?'

My nails dig into my palms. 'Whom did you tell?' If every guard in my palace knows about this, Tryndamere will pay.

'I'm talking about _you_. If Sej wanted your babies, you'd react.' He could have made his point without giving me a stroke. The thought of Sejuani carrying children makes up for it. Experience of growing heavy, slow and vulnerable could soften her edge, though she'd be a total bear upon giving birth.

I picture myself, holding Sejuani's warm back and stroking her pale bangs from her misty blue eyes while her body trembles with morning sickness. I nearly black out with emotion. Tryndamere's words pass me by until I gather my wits.

'…and sure enough, you grew restless and paranoid, like you were scared of being jumped.'

I quickly remember how to form sentences. 'I don't think any of us could rest with Sejuani here.'

'Well, no… I could put most of it down to stress and the fear of a rescue attempt.' He goes quiet.

This isn't like him. 'Tryndamere?'

'This is the hard part.' He stares into space and locks both hands before his mouth. 'I've been hiding something.'

'That's… not like you.' If _Tryndamere_ has an agenda, my life will be turned upside-down. 'Wh… what have you…?' My question fades into nothing.

'I was… the night Sej gave us the laugh, I was on "Udyr Patrol". No reason, I was bored. It happens a lot. He didn't get anywhere near the palace. It was an inside job.' I can't look at him. Grasping my legs, I draw the fur to my chin. 'And there was one person, Ashe, one _woman_ set on keeping Sej alive.' I shut my eyes and curl tighter. I wish I were more flexible so I could hide from the world, like a frightened hedgehog. 'The crazy thing is that you could have released her in public and I wouldn't have batted an eyelid. We might have disagreed but, hey, that's you. Mercy's your thing. No one here would question your _intent_ … so why would you cover it up, unless there was a deeper motivation… one that would cause you to abandon all sense…'

If I had the energy to scream, I would shatter his bones. All that comes out is an empty wheeze. 'Are you going to make me say it? Why should I give you the satisfaction?'

'Because your silence will cost you everything,' says Tryndamere flatly. Raising the subject has drained him. For all his banter, he rarely confronts me. I guess he likes to keep his battles physical. 'This may come as a surprise but I give a damn about you. Reclaim your life before you destroy it.'

My frail body can't endure this. Every harsh gulp of air shreds my lungs. My abdominals flex and crush. 'I… I let her go. I didn't want her to die… because… I want _her_ …'

Tryndamere finally shifts onto the bed. He supports me while I cry all the pain out of my system. It's remarkable, how a man so large can have so little presence. I can't even smell him. When we consummated our marriage it was like being mounted by a rock. I'm not sure if I'm blind to men or if solid emptiness wells from his deep trauma. 'You don't have to justify it. Yeah, you should let her go, but you know that already.' He sighs. 'We're at a stalemate. Even if you had the will, assaulting her territory is madness. I can't do it on your behalf without Jarvan.' He's trying to help in his way, grounding nebulous passion with logistics. The former is untouchable, the latter is merely unworkable. 'We can't rely on Sej to force your hand because her tribe have gone into hibernation. I can _guess_ why but… you would know better…' he waits for me to supply the missing knowledge.

'She loves me... but hates our way of life, and it's tearing her apart.'

'Well, there's no accounting for taste.' He can't resist an opening. I'd slap him but I'd only scratch my palm on stubble. 'I don't think she'll compromise until...' even Tryndamere has enough discretion to let me take that step.

I can. If Sejuani is facing the void, I should not look away. 'She died once.' Volibear's accusation thunders like a drumbeat. 'I think she's dying now.'

'One of your visions?' I nod in reply. 'That would explain her absence. For all her talk, I don't think she was built for this place, too inflexible. She'd have made a better Demacian.'

'If you told her that, we'd have our old foe back in no time.' Tryndamere has a point. I could imagine her in Shyvana's role. I could _definitely_ put Sejuani in that dress. 'You know, I think Quinn would have made a fine Avarosan... I'm not sure where I'd fit.'

'You're the most Freljord person I know! Can't think of anyone more fit to rule a messed-up whirlwind of tangled ravines and frozen beauty.'

'Thank you.' The first vote of confidence after my public failure. 'And I can't imagine a better consort. You knew my secrets all along but never left my side, in court or in battle.'

'I just keep going. Honestly, I don't know any other way.'

'I hope you never learn.' I rest my head on Tryndamere's chest. 'Even if my dreams come true, your place is here.'

'Means a lot to hear that. I spend enough time feeling like an obstacle.' He squeezes my shoulder. 'Once all this is over, I'd like to see the world, give you a bit of room to socialise your new girl. I think being "Tryndamere, the Royal Adventurer" sounds more fun than being a third wheel.'

'Hmm, I don't know.' I trace his pectoral and follow his breastbone downwards. 'Being a third wheel could be fun and you _do_ have to provide an heir.'

'I'm sure you're a good lay with the right partner but after our wedding night, I'd sooner get a baster from the kitchen.' Ugh, that seems like a rather inauspicious beginning for an heir to the Freljord. However, Tryndamere's right. We shouldn't make each other miserable. 'And everyone who gets naked with you winds up asking for death.'

'Yes... I do have that effect.'

'You know how to pick them.' He tousles my hair. 'Back with us?'

I could step outside and go through the motions but my people deserve better. Who am I to the Avarosan? A child of destiny, a lonesome conduit for the past, present and future? On a mountain side, in the dead of night, every distant fire touches me. I revealed my forge to Quinn, showed her what I had forgotten.

With open eyes, I must return.

'I don't know... is there anything that requires my personal attention?'

'Everything's quiet.' He looks at me with concern. 'I hope you're going on a trip and not locking yourself in here for a month.'

'I'd like to spend some time in the field.'

Tryndamere beams with approval. I thought that would appeal to his outdoor nature. 'Sounds good! We can look after things while you're gone. As far as the troops know, you punched out a Demacian spy in front of Prince Jarvan. They love it.'

'And the rest of our court?'

'They're…' Tryndamere falters, 'confused and upset.'

'Of course.' I'm relieved. In the midst of all this chaos, disappointment is a normal response. 'They have every right to be.'

'I can fill them in but most of our crowd have loose lips, and you're better at keeping them shut.'

'What do _you_ recommend?'

Tryndamere is clearly surprised by my faith in his judgement. 'Erm... it's a risk but I'd tell Vivian.'

'Seriously?' Are we talking about the same Anivia? She'd explode and resurrect five times in one day.

'Sej is our biggest problem. We don't know what's up with her, and that's _dangerous_. If you weren't mistaken and she _was_ a corpse, I've no idea what actually came back. Viv's made that trip hundreds of times. Yeah, she loves drama but giving her a head-start might warrant the headache.'

'Do you think my... connection to Sejuani is relevant?'

'No idea but it wouldn't surprise me. The undead go for that sort of thing.'

'Okay,' I was dreading the revelation to Anivia. Ruining her little fairy tale would bring enough squawking and snowstorms to wake my ancestors and hurl them into the sea. 'If you could tell Anivia in my absence, I would be… _very_ grateful.'

Tryndamere laughs. 'Are you going to be pure filth because I know you don't mean it?'

' _May_ be.'

'I might stick around after all.'

* * *

I venture into the Freljord, bearing the same equipment as a common scout and enough ink and vellum to record my dreams. If I can make "Sian" and "Ashe" one and the same, that would be a fitting homage to my dear Quinn, my hunter and my victim.

Sejuani, we bare claws and spill blood. On our frozen battlefield, we lock horns to decide the greatest predator.

Perhaps, we are both prey.

* * *

 **THE END**

There is a follow-up called ' **Gemini** ', also on this site.


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